Visions of Conflict
by blackwater11
Summary: War photographer Molly Dawes has always known she'd inherit her childhood home- she just didn't expect it to be so soon. At her Nan's will reading she's shocked to learn that her inheritance hangs on one very inconvenient condition: Molly must drop everything and travel the country with a mysterious stranger. Secrets and lies come to light leaving Molly questioning everything.
1. Chapter 1

My Nan died completely unexpectedly- to me at any rate- at her home in Cornwall, on a day when the leaves had just begun to turn. The letter I'd received from her solicitor remained tucked away in my camera bag for several months, where I would reluctantly retrieve it to skim read every now and then, purely to quieten my nut's incessant need to try and figure out all the unusual details. It was like trying to piece together one of them jigsaws only to find you get all the way to the bleedin' end and find pieces missing, leaving you wondering why you even bothered. The swirling signature from a Mr Aldridgeson, requesting that I make it a priority to schedule in an appointment at his office at eleven o'clock sharp on the 3rd of May: exactly six months to the day since Nan had passed away. Why Nan wanted a six month time lapse between her funeral and her will reading was anyone's guess, but in all honesty, she'd probably done me a massive favour. I'm all over the shop. I was single and had just lost the only real family I had left. Being alone is easier. Safer. Less chance of being hurt by those who claim to love you.

Well, strictly speaking, that ain't exactly true. Me Mum, Dad and siblings are still around, but have been out of the picture for so long that I might as well class myself as being alone. If I'm being totally honest, I could probably walk past them in the street tomorrow and wouldn't be any the wiser. I'd never really seen eye to eye with my family. Growing up, I'd always felt that little bit out of place, misunderstood; like I never truly belonged. Things were tense between my Nan and Dave. She'd never approved of him, thought he was a bad apple out to ruin me mum's life. She'd tried in vain to get mum to see sense but mum, the stubborn mare that she is, wasn't having any of it and eventually told Nan to stay out of her life. Mind you, looking back, I can see where Nan was coming from. It's not exactly every mums dream to see your daughter give up on university to run away at eighteen to marry some tosspot who spends his days sat on the sofa chugging booze down his Gregory and dreaming up schemes to receive more doll money so he won't have to get off his arse and find a job. My mum was left haggard and wilting like a flower after spending years dealing with alcohol induced screaming matches and popping out more little bleeders than they know what to do with.

Things had gotten pretty bad after that. Not that I remembered much. Only piecing bits together from what others had whispered in hushed tones over the years as if to spare my feelings until the line between fact and fiction forever an uncertain blur. I remember missing a lot of school and on the occasions when I did manage to turn up I'd been unable to concentrate from lack of sleep and looked dishevelled and unkept. Nan, the only person in my life who has ever truly seen and understood me, had tried to intervene; coming up for weekend visits, whisking me away for fun filled weekends wandering the endless gardens, museums, libraries and art galleries across London fuelling my desire and curiosity to know more about the world around me. Nothing and no one else existed in those moments except us two. It was as if I was looking through a camera lense into other peoples' worlds, wishing desperately that they were my own. Those were the bits I remember. Everything else I'd blocked out.

My Nan always was a shrewd thing. She only had to look at you and you felt like she was staring straight down into your soul. She missed nothing. It made trying to lie a right pain in the arse. When I eventually caved and told her the truth, through a haze of tears, she immediately raised the alarm with the school until social services and the courts got involved and Nan fought tooth and nail to keep me, gaining full custody. My memories of my last few days in London have grown hazy, but the angry and bitter words of my Dad promising that if I left I'd never see him or any of my family again still ring through me as clear as a bell nearly two decades later. At eight I'd been terrified of what a life without them would be like, but as Nan gently took my hand and led me down the piss wreaking steps of our flat I knew that as long as Nan was around I'd be fine. Dave had kept to his word. I haven't seen them since. The occasional card at birthdays and Christmases, it was like I no longer existed to them.

In truth, I'm relieved that I don't have to spend hours alone trawling through her study. The thought of attempting to make sense of her filing system so I can terminate a lifetime of paperwork, receipts and correspondences fills me with dread. I'd much preferred to postpone the inevitable and bury myself in work. A six month tour of Afghan or Kenya would do me nicely. To the inquisitive stranger I introduce myself as a photographic journalist. In reality, I'm a photographer who's spent the last eight years documenting a world ravaged and torn apart by war. When I'd first shown an interest in photography, my Nan had images of me traipsing along the Cornish coastline taking beautiful scenic shots of the beaches at sunset in a bid to attract more tourism to the area. She definitely hadn't envisioned me being on the front line photographing devastation and facing death at every click of the lense shutter.

I enter the solicitor's office with 30 seconds to spare. The room was filled with a pale light that filtered through moth eaten net curtains, the air musty and stale, the dust dancing across the shaft of soft morning light before coming to rest on the wall of filing cabinets and box files, creasing and folding in on themselves, no longer able to hold the heavy contents within. The entire room held an air of unorganised chaos that I hoped didn't reflect the man I was about to meet. What was is an old Army friend used to say? Tidy locker equals a tidy mind. When Mr Aldridgeson eventually appeared I had to bite back a giggle. He looked more like your stereotypical academic than a solicitor. Wild grey hair, tweed jacket several sizes too big with patches at the elbows. When he stood to greet me hello I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing mismatching socks and missing a shoe. Taking my cue to sit across from him, I let my camera bag slip to the floor, my eyes inadvertently sliding to the door every few seconds. Sensing my sudden tension, Mr Aldridgeson gave me a small friendly smile designed to put me at ease. Clearing his throat he got down to business. My Nan, as it turns out, had left a somewhat complicated bequest.

"Just the formalities to get out of the way first. Are you Molly Dawes of…" he glanced down at his notes, squinting to make out the words hidden under a dark coffee ring. "Flat 12 Market Street, Cirencester?" I give a small nod of confirmation.

"Yes that's right."

"I asked you to bring along your passport as proof of ID. I take it you have it with you?" I reached for the camera bag at my feet. "Yes. Do you need to see it now?"

"No, no," he muttered giving a dismissive wave of his hand, "I'll see it later." He began shuffling papers in the file in front of him. "I'm now going to explain to you the instructions regarding the last will and testament of Mrs Margery Ann Moore of Rose Cottage, Windmill Hill, Cornwall. You'll notice that I said instructions regarding the will- rather than reading the will directly." I give a slight shrug.

"I figured it might be something to do with my parents, no doubt they've been on the phone sniffing around to see if they've been left anything." I stop and pause for a minute, suddenly confused. "Hang on a minute, did you say Moore? My Nan's last name was Morston Mr Aldridgeson, _not_ Moore. "Ah, I thought that might be the case, I wasn't sure how much you knew." He lent back in his chair pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them on the sleeve of his jacket. Placing them on the bridge of his nose where they instantly began to slide down, he began talking again. "Your Nan changed her name some years ago when she took you with her to Cornwall. She didn't go through official channels so any official documents are filed under her real name." He paused smiling kindly at me. "Don't worry, everything will become clear eventually, I promise."

"Thank you….I think." What the hell was going on?

"Now I'm sorry for this Miss Dawes but I'm about to overload you with quite a bit of important information. Some of it may come as a bit of a shock. I suggest you let me tell you everything before you result to any questions alright?" Slightly taken aback at the sudden unexpected burst of assertiveness, I could weakly nod. "Firstly, you are the sole beneficiary of your Nan's estate. She had stipulated that a small proportion of valuables have been left to your aunt and mother but everything else is yours." This hadn't come as to much of a surprise.

"Secondly, your Nan has written you a letter." At this, my eyebrows flew up into my hairline. Nan never was one for putting pen to paper. What was that about? My attention was drawn back to the solicitor as he continued talking. "I'm afraid I cannot give you the details of the will at present as she has left explicit instructions regarding the actions you must carry out. If you meet all of the conditions then, and only then, will you inherit the estate. I also can't disclose the details of the estate, they will be revealed to you at the end." Wait what? To gobsmacked to respond, I could only stare. "She has left a detailed list of actions you must complete-providing proof you have carried them all out- before you are allowed to inherit." From somewhere I was able to find my voice. "Mr Aldridgeson, not being funny but are you pulling my leg? And what do you mean by eventually inherit?"

"No Miss Dawes, I can assure you I'm not. This is perfectly genuine. Your Nan was quite the lady you know." At this I raised an eyebrow. "I visited her at the cottage not long after she discovered her illness. She had hopes that you might be able to put the ghosts of your own past to rest once and for all. Help you to really start living your life. I suppose she feared that after all this time that you felt incomplete. She wanted to try and help fill in the gaps as it were in your understanding. For that to happen, she wants you to go on a journey to places that hold special significance to the both of you. There are five of them. She'd also like you to scatter some of her ashes as you go. This is what you must do Molly if you wish to inherit the estate."

"So your saying I have to go off skipping about the country scattering her ashes if I'm to inherit what's already mine?" Mr Aldrigeson nodded, eyeing me gravely. "I'm sorry Miss Dawes but those were her express wishes. I'm only following orders."

"Well shit," I whispered. This is sure to put a spanner in the works.

AN: I know I probably shouldn't be publishing another story but the idea just wouldn't leave my head. It's based loosely on a book called The Wedding Cake Tree. All rights belong to Melanie Hudson and anything Our Girl goes to BBC and Tony Grounds.


	2. The Letter

Chapter 2

Hello Molls.

I have started writing this letter so many times but keep crossing things out. It's harder than you think trying to write these words. In some ways it would have been much easier to say these words to your face, you know how I can talk for England me. (Don't think I don't know that you're sat there rolling those lovely green eyes at the heavens young lady.) See, I've lost my train of thought already and it's only the first paragraph.

Firstly, don't think of this as a letter from beyond the grave or any of that morbid bollocks. Just think of it as another very long distance phone call like we used to have when you were out in Afghan. You'd ask me something and i'd never answer you because I couldn't hear what you'd said over the noise of bloody war and that. Think of it like that, only with a much longer pause between what is said and when it is heard. Even now as I write this, I'm sat on the balcony overlooking the garden. The window is thrown open letting in the sea breeze as I watch the sun chasing its way below the headland over Harlyn Bay. The garden is looking lovely this time of year. I think Mr Bishop has finally found his inner Alan Titchmarsh. They'll have a hard job getting him back behind the bar at the Well Parc now. You know he's dying to get his hands on those roses in the churchyard. Somebody better put a stop to the poor bugger and quick!

I know you're probably still upset with me that I didn't tell you how bad things had got with my illness. When I told you about the diagnosis of cancer I deliberately kept the details vague. I didn't want you to worry when you were half a world away. What I had neglected to mention, was that it got diagnosed late- you know how I hate being poked and prodded- and it was aggressive. A few months ago they told me there was little else to be done. If I'd told you the truth you'd have been on the first plane home and I didn't want that for you. You have your own life to live my love and you need to start living it; you more than anybody can appreciate that every day is precious. Don't get me wrong I haven't given up. To say I was angry and frightened, at myself more than anything, was an understatement but you have to pick your battles Molls. This fight was a fight I knew I couldn't win. I'd much prefer to enjoy my time with you without you fearing that this goodbye would be our last. You carry around the ghosts of one soul-destroying goodbye- I didn't want to burden you with another. We both know I was going to bugger off eventually, but I'll admit another ten years with you would have been nice. At least I could go safe in the knowledge that you were settled and happy. I've been a prize prannet Molls and I'm woman enough to admit it.

Anyway, enough of that. Down to business. Unless Aldridgeson has made a complete cockup of my instructions you should be aware of my name change and the plan I've laid out for you. All will become clear in time but please Molls try not to jump ahead of yourself during the next ten days. I know how you like to skip the boring bits and go right to the end but just sit back and enjoy this little trip- think of it as a holiday. In fact, see it as the trip we never got the chance to take together. There were things I wish I had told you, mistakes I'd made that I wish I could correct but it seems time has been conspiring against me. With that in mind, I've concocted a little plan to allow me to tell you the things I wanted you to know and see the things I'd always wanted to see. In fact, it was you who gave me the idea. You and those piss taking tossers you met when you went out to Afghan the first time. You wrote once about how one night you all sat around the fire back at the compound and spent the night whispering your fears about what was to come, the wishes and dreams that would never be fulfilled should you not make it home. For some reason, that letter always stuck with me. It reminded me that life is short. You don't have the time to worry about what ifs, maybes, what we should or shouldn't do. So if it helps, think of this trip as you fulfilling my own personal bucket list Molls. Do the things I never got to do, see the places I'd dreamed of visiting and scatter a little of me in every place as you go along. That way, it'll be as though I'm there with you.

Now, I must insist that you take the next ten days off of work. Being freelance should make it slightly easier and I know for a fact that you are probably feeling restless and ready to jump onto the next plane to go and capture images of another war torn country. Please Molls, hold off for just a little bit longer. I know you're probably pissed about the conditions and I'm truly sorry for that, but it was the only way I could think to make sure you didn't cut corners. I want to set your heart on fire and help rekindle the creative ardour you seem to have lost. You spend your days photographing death, destruction and decay that I fear you've forgotten to open your eyes to the beauty around you. I ought to mention that you won't be travelling alone, that would be dreadful. To that end, I've asked a good friend of mine- Charles- to go with you. He's an army Captain and completely dependable so give him a chance. He comes across as a bit stern and stand offish at first but underneath the tough exterior he's got a heart of gold. If I'm honest, I've been worried about him for quite some time- I fear he's running himself to the brink of exhaustion. The poor sod never stops and needs a holiday more than you Molls, so don't fob him off. I know you think being alone is better, but just this once go with it. That's all I ask.

Be excited! I wish I'd set off on an adventure at 28.

Well, our time seems to have run out. Autumn is truly setting in now. That's why I wanted you to wait and scatter me in the spring, what with it being a time for new lives to begin an' all that. Maybe if I'm lucky I can be part of something new and extraordinary, one last time.

Go, be brilliant my love,

Nan x.

I read through the letter one more time, tracing the letters over Nan's signature as a lone tear blots the ink on the page. There was no mistaking Nan's spidery scrawl. The office is silence as I nurse a now lukewarm cup of tea that Mr Alrdrigeson had made me. Before I'd read it I had visons of me storming out in a huff before finding another solicitor to help me contest the will. But, having read Nan's words I couldn't bring myself to do it. "So Miss Dawes, what are you going to do?" I sighed softly. Although I desperately wanted to inherit the house, the inheritance had never been about the money. Malie Point- taken from the Hawaiian word for tranquil or calm- had been the only true home I had ever had. It was my sanctuary; my safe harbour as I weathered the bleak storms that had come to encompass my life. Then there was the matter of Nan's ashes. She knew full well I wouldn't be able to refuse, the cheeky mare! With a sigh I met the eyes of the solicitor sat in front of me, choosing to ignore the flicker of amusement dancing in the depths of his wise gaze.

"Give me your instructions Mr Aldrigeson; it looks like I'm off on an adventure after all."


	3. Malie Point

Tucked away behind a row of trees at the top of Windmill hill, sits a whitewashed cottage overlooking Travone Bay known to the locals as Malie Point. Its front completely symmetrical, two wide bay windows stand either side of the two smaller ones nestled between them. The grey slate tiles perch jauntily in rows along the roof. The door, painted a deep navy blue, is tucked away to the side of the house, a tattered welcome mat sits invitingly on the doorstep; a pair of my old muddy wellies perched neatly beside it. The cottage sits comfortably surrounded by a maze of narrow lanes and wild hedgerows that snake their way down the hill, past the village church and corner shops on the sharp bend, winding past new holiday lets and developments- designed to give slick city highfliers a slice of a more sedate way of life during the weekends- before coming to a stop where the road ends and the beach begins.

I loved our cosy topsy- turvey bungalow growing up. The bottom floor is shaped like an upside down L, The front door opening to the entrance hall corridor that houses three smaller bedrooms and a bathroom at the end of the hall. Directly to the right, another corridor leads to the master bedroom and Nan's study before opening out into a spacious, airy kitchen, the sliding glass doors leading out onto the veranda adorned with vines, fruit and the twinkle lights that hadn't been removed since my 18th birthday party. The veranda offers a bird's eye view of Nan's precious garden; her pride and joy. She'd squeezed flowers into every crevice of the garden; a wildness and a freedom to the garden that I'd always loved. Flora and Fauna had to battle it out at Malie Point, nudging each other for that little bit of extra room. Some had over spilled from their pots and wound their way up and along the trellises. I used to think of it as a secret little jungle just waiting to be explored like the Amazon; my own little corner of the world. I'd spend hours helping Nan dig the flowerbeds and planting seeds whilst waiting and hoping they'd sprout new life in the months to come. The entire property was enclosed by a line of trees where I'd hung lamps, lights and wind chimes over the years. When the sun was at its highest the best place to sit was in the right hand corner near the circular stone patio made from mosaic so Nan had placed a rickety metal table and chairs. It was where Qaseem liked to sit quietly in the mornings reading the morning papers as he sipped his coffee; a few precious minutes of peace before starting his day.

The top floor had always been the part of the house that I loved the most. The sloping roof space had been converted into a cosy lounge, with long sofa's lining the entire length of one wall, a small log burner the only focus on the wall opposite. At the end, another patio door opened outwards onto a small balcony, where I'd sit and listen to the waves and watch the flickering light from the lighthouse in the distance. Whilst my childhood in London had been traumatic and unstable, my life in Cornwall was an idyllic contrast. Although we didn't have a lot of money, I never wanted for anything. We holidayed locally, travelling from coast to coast in Nan's battered old car spending the days walking or cycling along endless beaches. One day I was a rogue pirate searching for seashells and other oddities washed up by the shore lines, the next a fisherman hunting for crabs in rock pools or fishing off the sea harbour wall. Other times I pretended to be a shop keeper practising my maths skills helping Nan sell her jams and preserves at the local markets and stalls. I never lacked for company as both the B and B and Padstow always managed to attract an array of colourful characters as they past through looking for some peace and relaxation.

When Nan originally purchased the property, just after Grandad died, two small stone bungalows, identical in their layout, had stood in their place. She'd brought both with the idea to live in one and convert the other into basic but comfortable accommodation for weary travellers in the hope of making some money in the process. With time, word soon spread and a steady stream of guests arrived to take advantage of the idyllic setting. When they left, after several days or sometimes weeks of relaxation, good food and hearty sea air, they would hopefully look and feel a whole lot better. Nan encouraged her guests to take advantage of the outdoors, knowing instinctively which route would suit each guest so they took maximum enjoyment from the miles of coastal walkways that stretched around the headland to the neighbouring beaches. Failing that, she recommended the best painting and photography spots or, for the adventurous types, persuaded them to try surfing, paddle boarding and other water sports down on the beach (something she'd failed to ignite in me since I had a fear of open water.)

As time when on and more and more visitors poured in, Nan decided to branch out even more. I was barely twenty and had just returned from my first assignment as a war photographer in Afghanistan and couldn't get the harrowing things I'd experienced out of my nut. When I'd returned, a fellow fragged soldier in tow, Nan had the bright idea of turning the B and B into a retreat. She had even managed to secure a contract with the Ministry of Defence. They'd asked her to set aside a considerable number of weeks per year for military personnel until eventually she had enough returning customers to dedicate the retreat to them entirely. The only proviso was that I wasn't allowed to ask questions. So I didn't.

The bungalows were joined and converted into the whitewashed two story cottage that stands today. I'd insisted on keeping the original layout; with the downstairs being extended out to hold more bedrooms. The loft lounge remained the same; with the welcomed addition of a small library and various hidden nooks and window spaces that were turned into quite reading areas. The veranda became a communal area, with the garden stretching out to encompass the couple of acres of land that lay beyond the properties original boundary. Tucked in the left corner at the back of the property was an old outhouse that I had converted into a mini studio and darkroom. The garden was tended so that we became self-sufficient in terms of the fruit, vegetables, herbs and poultry that we kept. The guests, making good use of their military training, often helped out with the chores and cooking responsibilities, so that Nan was left with very little to do. Many a long, lazy summer night were spent sat around open fires and barbeques, the sounds of war stories, punctuated with laughter and comradery, floated along the breeze through my window sending me to sleep every night. I never resented the seemingly endless stream of visitors that invaded my home. At first, I thought I'd be more protective and territorial of the place that had provided me with much peace and stability. I only had to look at the soldiers exhausted faces and clouded, dead eyes to know that they deserved a safe place to land as much as I did; if not more. Individuals come and go. Just when I got to know one of them they'd move on, not to return for another year or so. That was just the way at Malie Point.

One particular individual came and never really left- Qaseem. He'd been at Malie Point for almost as long as I could remember and had been a steadfast presence in my life ever since. The only real father figure I'd ever had. A former English Literature teacher in Kabul, he'd been left devastated after the Taliban had killed his wife and daughter and had fled to England. He spent some time wandering aimlessly around the country teaching here and there until he had been drawn to the Cornish area thanks to his love of the poet John Betjeman. From there he had somehow found his way to us at Malie Point. He'd stayed for a number of years but the yearning for his homeland had never really left him and he'd returned to Afghanistan when I was in my late teens. He began working alongside the British Army and spent some time as a translator with the ANA thinking he could do more good before coming back to England for good and helping Nan set up the retreat. I've fond memories of his retellings of famous stories and poems. He'd even been the one to buy me my first camera. A Polaroid that I had adored. He and Nan were…close you might say. He was great company for her. They had found a kinship in each other that had started as respect and gratitude but deepened into adoration through the years. Despite being polar opposites, they somehow balanced each other out and remaining kindred spirits right until the very end.

I remember when I received the phone call from Qaseem at my flat in Cirencester urging me to come down to see Nan like it was yesterday. When I arrived, I'd been shocked at how frail she had looked. I'd seen her only a few weeks before and she'd looked almost normal, if a little tired. Although she was too weak to talk, she knew I was there. I'd carefully lay on the bed next to her, squeezing her bony hand carefully in my warm one, trying hard to keep the tears at bay. It was then that she had gathered the strength to smile down at me with warm green eyes that so mirrored my own. Her cracked lips ghosted across my forehead in a barely there kiss. "My little trouper," she'd whispered. She'd always call me her little trouper. A gentle reminder that no matter what life threw at me I never gave up. I was a fighter. When I got kicked down, I'd get right back up, dust myself off and keep on going. Nothing and no one kept me down for long. Qaseem stood faithfully in the doorway, his eyes filled with anguish at being unable to offer any comfort or fix the situation like he was so used to doing. Despite everything, Nan passed away quietly not long after I'd arrived. The local doctor, who I hadn't realised had been in the room, was quick to confirm time of death. In that moment something broke within me and I felt the chord that had tethered me to Nan and Malie Point physically snap deep within my chest. I'd lost the warmth and security that had sustained me ever since I'd left my parents behind. In that moment I'd never felt so alone or adrift.

Within minutes I had pushed myself to my feet and made for the front door, the pounding of my feet loud on the pavement as I'd torn down the road not thinking about where I was going. All I knew was that I needed to get away. My feet carried me along the familiar winding path that led to the beach. Reaching Travon road, I passed the surf shop, the cliff top houses and out onto the headland. My lungs burned, desperate for oxygen but I pushed on up the coastal path until I came to a familiar bench. Collapsing, I finally let myself succumb to my grief. It was ironic that the evening had turned out so beautifully. The sky was clear, alight with thousands of stars twinkling mockingly down at me as if they relished in my grief. I don't know how long I sat there, the only sounds that filtered through my consciousness were the slow hiss of the waves as they crashed repeatedly against the jagged rocks below. I don't remember how I got back to Malie nor do I remember falling asleep. All I do know was that when I woke up I was angry.

In the days that followed I was ashamed to admit that I directed most of that anger at Qaseem. "You should have told me she'd gotten worse. She was _my_ Nan," I yelled and threw things in an attempt to vent my anger. I was hurting and wanted him to feel the betrayal and rawness I was feeling. "She'd been sat in the garden only a few days ago Molly. Nobody could have predicted how fast things would go downhill. Had I known I would have called you. I tried but your Nan wouldn't let me. What is it you English say, stubborn as a mule? That was your Nan." My initial anger and fear slowly trickled away leaving me feeling too drained to keep up the pretence any longer. Calming a little, I sat burrowed against his side on the sofa listening as he talked. I'd always taken great comfort in Qaseem's presence growing up. His broad chest and calming tones had been a wonderful balm whilst I fretted over some teenage angst- or bemoaned the unfairness of a decision Nan had made; convinced as I was that she was doing it purely to ruin my life. Typical teenage girlie stuff. He was the wise one, the voice of reason in our house often stepping in to play the peacemaker before either of us said something we'd regret. He said very little but when he did speak you always felt as if you were coming away having learnt a valuable life lesson.

Waiting for the funeral left me desolate and numb. I'd become restless, unable to sit still for long. There was too much jitterbug in my nut. I knew I was fretting about what was to happen next. What would happen to the retreat? Would Qaseem stay here and keep it running? Did I even have a right to ask it of him? What about my mother? Would she make a suddenly appearance or not? In all honesty I wasn't sure I was ready to see her again after all this time. Not with my wounds still so open and raw. I needed time to heal, to fix the chinks in my armour before I could face her. Even the house seemed to be in mourning. I'd never know Malie Point to be so quiet and still. I was thankful that the residence had chosen to stay on for the funeral. Malie Point would have lost its soul completely if everyone had left. I wandered aimlessly from room to room my fingers ghosting over Nan's collection of trinkets and keep sakes- a lifetime of memories. Nothing looked or felt right now she was gone. It was if all the joy and life had left the place when she had. Feeling the walls slowly begin to close in with all my unanswered questions I grabbed my camera bag and retreated to the beach.

It had been one of my favourite childhood haunts-the nook above the cliff top bench that overlooked one of the bay's picturesque beauty spots. The nook was a natural carved hollow on the side of the cliff, forming where the gravel path fell away to meet the grassy slope below before dropping into the sea. It was plenty big enough for me to sit in and supported my back perfectly. The beauty of the hollow was this: I could see anyone seated on the bench below me, but nobody could see me- hidden amongst the overgrown grass and rushes- unless they were looking directly above them. It was perfect. Having rediscovered my old Polaroid camera in a box under the stairs- complete with a role of working film- I spend the days until the funeral returning to the nook above the cliff, taking photos of the sea and the various dog walkers strolling along the winding paths. On the second day a man appeared on the footpath. I didn't recognise him but assumed he must be a newcomer to the retreat. He had an air about him. The sort of person you can't help but feel drawn to the minute he walked into a room. His presence was magnetic. I couldn't work out his age as his face was obscured by a dark beard. He limped toward the cliff edge pausing for a minute to stare pensively into the horizon, hands on hips, body taught and muscles rippling with tension before he lowered himself heavily onto the bench; the aged wood screaming in protest as it took his weight. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a warn book, the spine cracked with age and the title barely visible as he began to read. I found my eyes drawn to his long fingers as they traced the words on the page, his lips barely moving as he mouthed the words. He clearly knew this book well. He lingered on the bench for an hour or so, only moving to turn a page before he returned the book to his pocket and making his way slowly and steadily back the way he had come.

He returned to the same spot at the same time the next day, and the next, with military precision, right up until the funeral. I remained hidden, watching, fascinated. His eyes looked down as they roved over the pages so I could only get the occasional glimpse of his face and eyes when he glanced up at the sky- captivated like a moth to the flame. He had tired eyes, I could see that much at least. They were edged with sun-scorched lines as if he's spent a significant amount of time in the sun wearing sunglasses. Every day he wore a similar outfit. A cap worn backwards masked his hair, only the occasional dark wisp visible at the base of his neck. A faded hoody and jeans worn low on his hips covered his legs and arms so I had no way of knowing whether his skin was tanned from the sun. The only interesting thing about his appearance was the boot that encashed his left leg. A war injury perhaps?

By the final day he was almost finished with his book when he did something surprising and completely out of the blue. He began to read aloud. As his smooth voice carried across the wind like velvet, the words seemed to resonate with something deep inside me. I sat frozen, mesmerised by the oddly familiar words that flowed like honey from his lips. As his last words fell away and he stood up one last time, I could have sworn his head tiled inquisitively in my direction as if he was checking to see if I was listening. I was grateful for his quiet presence, he had inadvertently brought me comfort during the worse week of my life. In the coming months I'd often think of him- his words a calming influence. My man o' the cliffs. It wasn't until much later that the piece of the puzzle fell into place and I could place the book he had been reading. It was one of Qaseem's favourites. Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas.

The Church of St Saviours, Padstow, was filled to the rafters with people. The building was too small to accommodate for everyone who wanted to say their goodbyes, leaving many standing in the aisles and pouring out through the doors into the courtyard. The service was heart felt and funny, the reverend having captured Nan's personality and colourful life perfectly having known her for so long. Afterwards, when everyone had decamped to the Well Parc for a few drinks, Qaseem had told me he would be staying on to help run the retreat until the details of the will were finalised. I didn't ask for any details beyond that- my attention caught by a flash of blonde hair and the way the air suddenly felt heavy with a scent that I felt I knew but couldn't quite place. I frowned and sighed in frustration as I tried to identify the base note but it was like trying to capture a grain of sand as it slid between my fingertips. I barely saw Qaseem after that. It was a cowardly thing to do I know, but I was still smarting from being lied to. A small rational part of my brain knew deep down that Qaseem wasn't at fault but sometimes grief can make you selfish. I left soon after with a stiff goodbye. One thing I knew for sure; no matter what happens, one day I'd return to Malie Point- for good.


	4. First impressions

Chapter 4

Mr Aldridgson's mood lightened once I'd confirmed my acceptance of Nan's hair-brained scheme. In fact, I'd go as far as to say he looked relieved; after all, had I refused, his job would have gotten a whole lot more complicated. "So go on then, put me out of my misery. Who's this… companion I'm being forced to travel with?" I knew I sounded like a petulant school kid, but I could think of nothing worse than spending hours of forced conversation and polite behaviour in front of a stranger.

"You're Nan felt….." I jumped in suddenly angry.

"Jesus, what didn't she feel? Haven't I been manipulated enough? I don't see why I can't just do this alone. In fact I'd prefer to. I don't need a babysitter. I travel to some of the worst places on earth alone. This should be a piece of piss." Aldrigeson did nothing except raised an eyebrow at my little outburst, perhaps surprised at the harsh cockney accent that always seems to rear its ugly head in times of high emotion, no matter how hard I'd tried over the years to shift it. Mr Aldrigeson's stare was calm and unwavering and for a minute it could have been Qaseem sat in front of me giving me the dreaded "I'm disappointed in you" stare. "Sorry, "I mumbled sheepishly, my cheeks flaming, "do go on."

"You might recognise Charles. He's been to Malie Point a few times over the years. He's easy going… in fact, you'll hardly notice he's even there. I agree with your Nan you need someone to go with you. If you travel alone then you'll be tempted to read all the letters in one go, skip a few locations, and get back in three days. It was your Nans ways of ensuring…"

"I know," I interrupted sharply, "It's her way of ensuring all the conditions are met. Whatever way you put it this Charles bloke is my babysitter and checker-upper. Nan seems a different person already. Did she know Charles well?" Mr Aldridgeson paused no doubt choosing his words carefully so as not to give too much away.

"He's being going back on and off for years. He grew closer to your Nan and Qaseem. In fact, I believe they were even stationed together at one point." My chest tightened. My visits had grown more infrequent the more I travelled with my work. It was unsettling to know how close Nan had become to people I had no knowledge of. "The good news is that Charles has made all your travel and accommodation arrangements already. Marge dictated her requirements and paid for everything in advance. All you have to do is show up, sit back and relax." Listening to his words reminded me of Nan's letter. What was it she'd said? Something about life being too short so to enjoy it. Could I really put my life in the hands of a stranger for 10 whole days? As I felt my hand reach out for the folder of information, I knew I'd already made my decision. "No need, I'll give everything to Charles this afternoon. In fact, he's waiting for you at a café in town. I'll tell you where to meet him so you can get to know each other. Then I'll pop back tomorrow and give you the letters before driving you to the airport."

"But how will I know it's him? What do you mean airport?" Mr Aldridgeson smiled.

"Trust me you'll know. Charles has got the Army's regulations written through every bone in his body. As for the rest, everything is in very capable hands. Trust me. It'll be fine."

"You make it sound so easy. I need to get some clothes together, sort out my car, phone work."

"Don't worry. If you give me your keys and give me all the details I'll get the car to Malie Point for you- that's where your journey will end." Well wasn't that appropriate I thought. "Oh, here, I almost forgot!" He opened a cupboard behind him with a flourish and handed me a small suitcase and suit carrier. "What's all this?"

"Your Nan thought it would be nice for you to have a new wardrobe for your trip so she chose this lot. Hopefully she picked the correct size. She was getting tired of seeing you traipsing around the globe in jeans, t-shirts and combat boots as if you were in the army." I laughed softly. Nan knew I was never one for shopping. Too busy rushing around with my camera bag permanently attached to my hip. Shaking my head with amusement I got up and made my way to the door. "Game, set, Match Mr Aldridgeson. You win…oh by the way, when you do eventually find my car it will either be clamped or have a parking ticket attached to it…cheers mate!"

It was around midday when I finally stumbled out into the street. Squinting, I fumbled in the depths of my camera bag for my sunglasses and mobile. I had an interview-cum-photoshoot with several athletes from the Invictus Games that I had planned for tomorrow which, thanks to Nan, I now needed to cancel. Making my way along the bustling high street in the center of Cirencester, I placed the phone to my ear and waited for a voice to answer. Sighing in frustration when I got nothing but the answer phone, I waited for the beep so I could leave a quick message of apology. As soon as I ended the call my screen lit up and a familiar goofy face appeared. Holding back a laugh I pressed connect only to be greeted with a voice I hadn't realised I'd missed.

"Ah Dawesy! You back from the deepest, darkest depths of Cornwall then? We were slightly worried you might have fallen off a cliff, or gorged yourself on cider and pasties."

"Oh give it a rest Dangles, you tosser!" Dangle's laugh was loud down the end of the phone.

"Oh come on there are worse ways to go. Anyway, guess who's managed to wangle their way out of guard duty this weekend. Yup, that's right, me! What do you say I hop on a train and we spend the weekend drinking whilst I fill you in on our next big adventure, see if I can't persuade you to tag along with us? I do love a war photographer me. Besides, you can be the one to break it to Fingers gently that he ain't as beautiful as he thinks he is. We keep telling him that the reason you refuse to take his pictures is because he'll break your camera lens but he won't believe us. Is it ok if I kip at yours? I can grab us a Nandos and be round for say seven? You're usual steak wrap is it?" laughing as I dodge a woman and her pushchair I try to intervene. "Dangles that sounds lovely, but…"

"Brilliant, I'm just on my way to the guard house now, I'll see you laters."

"Dangles! Wait! Don't hang up. I need to get you something." As expected, the news hadn't gone done well. I'd fought my way down the high street and turned down one of the narrow cobbled side streets before I could get a word in edgeways. Once I managed to placate Dangles with the promise of my attendance at the next Two Section get together- probably at some swanky London club he knows I'll loath- he'd calmed down.

"So let me get this straight in my head," he muttered, " Caz, lets face it Dawesy I'm struggling a bit here," I could already imagine him pacing back and forth outside the guard house, his hands gesturing wildly as he marched back and forth. "Your dead Nan is insisting you trip around the country with a complete stranger- and a man at that- just so you can inherit Malie Point?"

"Don't forget the bit about scattering her ashes as I go. Besides, the man's a soldier- a Captain even- but that's about the long and the short of it yeah," I finish with a sigh.

"It's absolute madness! Don't get me wrong I loved your Nan Molls but, is she off her bloody rocker or what? What was she thinking leaving you alone with a soldier who no doubt has just come back from tour? Does she know what we're like? What am I saying, of course she does. She's lived with our type for years, mind you none of us are ever exactly on top form if we're there are we. Dawes as a close friend I insist you get your arse up to Aldershot and forget the whole thing. Go…I don't know shoot photos of kids playing Sang Chill Bazi in Afghan or rebels in Kenya just….."

"Dangles. Listen. I don't need you to tell me how bloody insane this all is alright. Believe me I know. I just….. There's more to this than just it being about a dream holiday. I can feel it." I hear Dangles sigh down the phone. I know this has gotten him worked up somehow, he's usually so calm and level headed, qualities that I've no doubt will have him fast tracking up the ranks.

"Molls I'm sorry it's just, we all saw how hard losing her was for you. You're only now just coming to terms with everything. What if you discover something and the rug gets pulled out from under you. Can you handle that right now? It just seems, oh I don't know…cruel that she's left you to deal with all this on your own."

"I know Dangles. Truly. But I have to do it- for the ashes. I owe her everything Dangles. All this stuff about my life…it must be pretty important. Also, fickle as it sounds, I want that bloody house I helped build. It's my home." Dangles let out a small huff down the phone. He knew he wouldn't be able to change my mind. "Ok fine. It's your life. Just promise me you'll keep checking in and don't even think about giving me any bollocks about me leaving for deployment next week so I need to stay focused. You know I'll worry just the same. It doesn't have to be every day, just let me know you're ok. You know I can still check my emails most nights." I smiled down the phone, still getting my head around how protective Two Section are of me nearly 8 years since they'd first met me.

"Don't worry: I'll email you every night. You don't need to worry about this Charles bloke either, I'm just about to meet him now to tell him he's off the hook and that I'm ok to go alone."

"Hummm any idea of his rank? Maybe I know him?"

"Umm Captain possibly. I'll just tell him very politely to do one and if he doesn't listen I can always role him up in a blanket and lob him out the plane." Dangles laughed.

"Atta girl Dawesy, nice to see your charm and magnetism is still in there somewhere. Now off you go and dismiss the good little soldier from his duties, read your letters and get on this plane. You're the only one who can capture my good side."

"Ha! Hate to break it to you but you haven't got one mate. Laters!"

Chuckling to myself as I ended the call before Dangles could respond, my mind kept drifting back to this Charles stranger. What had Nan been thinking? The poor bloke was probably fragged and in need of a rest, not to have his arm twisted by a persuasive old bat (God love her.) If anything, he'll probably be relived he's off the hook. I just need to be firm. If he's of a higher rank, he's probably used to giving the orders, not following them.

Aldridgeson had told me to meet Charles at a quaint little café called Drizzle Chocolate. I hadn't needed directions as I knew exactly where it was- tucked away about half way down Jack Black Street. The irony that Nan had asked me to meet Charles at our favourite café wasn't lost on me. If she was intending to put me through the emotional wringer on this trip then she had gotten off to a brilliant start. I've lost count of the number of times I come dashing through the stone door way, usually late, to see Nan tucked away at her favourite table in the corner, a gardening magazine in one hand a cup of hot cholate in the other as she tried in vain to hide the fact that she was eying the display of chocolatey delights, despite already having a piece of cake sat in front of her. I wonder how long it would take for the ache in my chest to ease whenever I remember she's gone.

When I finally reached the café I paused and grimaced when I caught my reflection in the window. Pausing just long enough to pinch my pale cheeks and comb my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame the mass of unruly waves and curls, I squared my shoulders and marched through the door. The bell above the door jingled alerting everyone of my arrival and making it impossible for me to turn back. I spotted Charles immediately- not because I recognised him from Malie Point- but because of the battered army burgen perched at his feet. He hadn't noticed my arrival; he was too engrossed in a book. Everything about him screamed Army: From the way he sat ram rod straight in his chair, to the air of authority that seemed to wrap around him like Harry Potter's cloak of Invisibility. This was a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. His right foot was perched jauntily on his left knee, a finger rubbing distractedly along the inside of the heel of his boot whilst his dark eyes are staring intently at the page. He seemed totally oblivious to the admiring glances being thrown his way by the starry-eyed females, their attention captured by the way his bottom lip is caught invitingly between his teeth in concentration. My first thought was that the poor bugger looks to be getting a blister- I'm glad I packed the Compeed in my first aid kit. A split second later another thought came out of nowhere. Oh shit he's gorgeous!

My reaction made no sense what so ever. Rather than behave as a rational grownup- by walking calmly over to him and introducing myself, like I normally would, I felt my face flush with panic and I started rushing towards the counter. Now this would have been fine had it not been for one small problem. The café's interior was cramped and space very limited. This doesn't help those of us, like me, who are gifted with about as much grace as a dancing hippo in a Swarovski shop. It was just my luck that I caught my foot on the leg of a chair in my haste to get past him, sending me ass over tit onto the hard floor like some priestess making a sacrifice at the feet of a god. To give the bloke his due, he was at my side in a flash, his dark eyes assessing me for injury as he asked if I was hurt. "Oh you know, nothing accept my pride," I grumbled sarcastically as I allowed him to pull me to my feet, my knees going all wobbly when I noticed him biting his lip in a bid to hide his smirk. Shit! Being this close wasn't helping my mental faculties one bit. Pull yourself together Dawes!

He looked to be in his early thirties, tall and athletic with a broad chest and narrow hips. He had a head of dark curls swept artfully away from his forehead; a look that most male models spent hours trying to recreate in a mirror. His long legs were covered in a pair of dark chinos that he wore with a white shirt under a navy puffy jacket. His face was slightly tanned whilst his chin harboured a few days of stubble that only seemed to accentuate the fact that that he had a chiselled jaw and cheekbones to die for. "Hello Molly," he muttered, his voice clear and direct, his mouth quirked up on one side whilst his eyes dancing with amusement, as if he knew something that nobody else did. "I believe you're looking for me?" I went to hold out my hand only to realise that my small hand was still wrapped around his larger one. "Hello," I smiled bashfully as I pulled my hand gently away from his, trying desperately to ignore how warm it felt in mine. Why was I suddenly so nervous? I hadn't behaved like this in front of Mr Aldridgeson. I must be more tired than I thought.

"Would you like anything to drink?" At my nod a waitress suddenly materialised at his side, poised ready to take our order.

"Just a tea for me please."

"I'll take another coffee please." His eyes barely flicked towards her before they came to rest back on my face. I could already feel the blush start to work its way up my neck before it blossomed across my cheeks. "Well I don't know about you but this is all slightly strange. I usually spend a bit of time getting to know someone before I go away with them. Fancy a few weeks of bootcamp before we start?" I couldn't help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood and put me at ease.

"Nah you're all right. I've had quite the morning as it is. I don't think my system can take any more. This whole…." I paused trying to find the right words, "Trip of self-discovery is a shock enough I think." He offered me a courteous smile, his eyes never leaving my face as he tried to gauge my mood to see where to go next. "I bet you're wondering how I got caught up in all this? Want me to fill you in a bit? Marge's request was a bit peculiar I must say."

"Yes that would be a good idea." His mouth twitched again, no doubt sensing my frustration at the lack of control I had over the situation. "I've known Qaseem for nearly ten years now. I was fresh out of Sandhurst on my first tour as a captain when he started working with us as a translator. When he returned home we continued to exchange letters and after I had a particularly rough second tour, not long after the retreat was set up, he wrote and invited me to Malie Point. I was in a pretty dark place emotionally at that point and your Nan and Qaseem did a lot to help me get myself together. It's a debt I don't think I'll ever be able to repay. I was last there about eight months ago when they told me how bad things had really gotten. If it's any consolation Qaseem and I both tried to talk Marge out of leaving you in the dark but she was adamant." My brain whirled as I tried to process all the information I'd just been given. How was it that I didn't recognise him? He'd been there since the beginning. "Your Nan asked me to make myself available for these two weeks so I could accompany you on this trip. I turned her down at first- it didn't seem fair to you- but Marge could be very persuasive when she wanted to be." I snorted a laugh- clearly he knew Nan well after all. Maybe now was my chance to persuade him I was alright flying solo. "You know it's funny you should say that because….." I was cut off by Charles as he continued.

"I spent the better part of a week too-ing and fro-ing before I finally agreed to go. If I'm honest i've spent the last six months wondering if I'd made a mistake but…..here I am and I'm actually looking forward to it; I could do with the holiday. I'm sorry I interrupted you, you were about to say something?"

"Was I? Mind's gone blank, memory like a sieve me," I lied smoothly. "I bet you thought she'd finally gone round the bend when she outlined her little scheme." Charles scoffed,

"Tell me about it. I understand she wants you to learn a bit more about your past." My head jerked sharply in agreement. "Apparently. God knows what I'll find out. If I'm truly honest, I'm worried about it. I hate surprises; always have."

"Well all the travel details have been taken care of by yours truly and I can promise you faithfully that there's nothing too bad in there. Look, I know Marge has written you letters and whilst I've a vague inkling of the details- I haven't read them. What's inside is for your eyes only as far as I'm concerned." He paused for a second before joking quietly, "I'm just here as your tour guide; you can hate me if it helps but it's my job to deliver you from A to B and bring you back home in one piece." I laughed softly at his joke trying to ignore the warm feeling in my gut. Keep focused Dawes; it's time to dismiss the good little soldier before things go too far.

"Listen Charles, I've been thinking," Charles smiled warily.

"Oh dear that does sound dangerous Dawes." I raised an eyebrow as I questioned him curiously,

"Dawes?" At least he had the grace to blush slightly.

"Sorry old Army habit. Everyone ends up with a nickname eventually. It's all part of the bonding experience."

"Oh yeah? So what did the lads all call you then?"

"Nothing too exciting I'm afraid usually the Boss or Bossman." I failed to hold back my grin. Somehow it suited him.

"Look you may be used to being the one in charge but that doesn't mean you have to be manipulated into doing something you don't want to do. It wasn't right for Nan to ask you to do this. Your time is precious enough as it is. I'm sure you've got family to visit, without wasting your leave on a complete stranger. If you give me the details I'll happily carry on alone. I really don't mind." I flashed him a winning smile. Hopefully I can win him round with the charm and magnetism Dangles had mentioned earlier. Immune, Charles frowned as he ran a hand across his stubble thoughtfully. "Hummm, I thought you might say that. I owe your Nan a great deal, as I've already said. With regard to my leave entitlement, I'm on R and R between tours right now. I've already had three weeks off and done everything I need to: I've been to see my folks in Bath, spent some quality time at the happiest place on earth with a little scamp with big ears and even managed to squeeze in a 10k mud run up a mountain just for fun. I've had plenty of time to see who I need to see and do what I want to do, don't worry." I knew my face still looked unconvinced because Charles came at me from another angle. "Look, I know spending ten days with a complete stranger might seem odd but it's what your Nan wanted. I'm not one to break a promise or go back on my word. Please don't make me start with a dying woman's last wish. Lets just go for it, see where the wind takes us yeah." Well isn't that just great? What the hell am I supposed to say to that? On the other hand, would it really be so bad? It's not like I haven't travelled with strangers before. I do it with my job all the time. "I can show you my military I.D if that'll help, just so you know I am who I say I am and not a complete psychopath."

"No, you're alright, I believe you."

"So we're stuck with each other then? Lovely. I've already planned everything and I must say, I am looking forward to seeing some of the places on the list, there are some great locations- you're going to love it." I couldn't help it, he was trying so hard to sell it. His sudden boyish enthusiasm was infectious. "Ok, ok we'll go together. But I'm warning you now I'm not always the best company."

"Neither am I Molly. I'm not a fully functioning solider until I've had at least my first shot of coffee in the morning." My brain was suddenly assaulted with a rather delectable image of Charles awake first thing in the morning his hands wrapped around his huge….. Get your mind out of the gutter Dawes. Fully functioning soldier indeed! He only means that he can't concentrate without caffeine not….. That you perv! Seeing the twinkle in Charles' eye had me worried that he could suddenly read my thoughts, until I realised that his smirk was one of utter confidence. Clearly he was expecting to win me round without a problem. Trying to change the subject my eye caught the book that he had been reading when I had first come in. Seeing my interest he went on to explain. "Our tourist books for the places we'll be visiting." I learnt forward excitedly. "Can I see?"

"Sorry, no can do Dawes. I'm holder of the books and secret keeper of all important information. Voldemort himself wouldn't be able to break me. Each destination will be revealed only as we move from place to place -Your Nan was very firm about that. I'll be able to fill you in on more later, but for now, I think it's best if you go and get an early night. We're booked on the Easyjet flight from Bristol to Edinburgh departing at 0630. I was told you had your passport with you. Please tell me that's true?" I nodded; I couldn't exactly lie seeing as Mr Aldridgeson had already seen it- the conniving old worm! "Lovely! We'll pick you up at 0330. Nice and early so we can get to the airport in plenty of time."

"Can you give me a hint as to why Scotland, you obviously know something?" Charles laughed softly as he got up from his chair. "I haven't said anything have I Dawes?" Oh he was loving this alright I thought as I followed him out the door and said our goodbyes. I was starting to see why Nan had asked him. Even wrapped up in all the Army rules and regulations it wasn't hard to see that he was an easy going man with a wicked sense of humour lurking under the surface. Something tells me this trip might prove to be worthwhile after all.

An: Thank you for all the lovely reviews and feedback on the last chapter, it's much appreciated. Apologies for those who read the original upload. I was having a few coding issues that have hopefully been resolved. Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Edinburgh- Scotland

4th- 6th May

We very nearly missed the bloody flight. We'd arrived at Bristol in plenty of time- something of a miracle whenever the M4 is involved- so we decided to go for a coffee whilst we waited for the gate to be announced. Charles joined the throng of bleary eyed passengers whilst I nipped to the loo to try and wake myself up a bit. Me and early morning starts have never been nor will ever be friends. When I got back I set about adding more milk to my tea whilst Charles checked the board again. Seconds later he was back and looking mildly agitated. "Better get a move on Molly, the gate's closing in two minutes." I nearly dropped my tea in shock.

"WHAT? How can that be when they haven't even announced it yet?" Charles didn't answer, he was already pulling my suitcase behind him and striding away leaving me jogging to catch up whist juggling two cups of steaming liquid. "What gate number is it?" He looked back at me gravely.

"Gate 12" Shit! That was bloody miles away. I jogged faster glaring at the other passengers who were ambling leisurely along as if they had all the time in the world. Why don't people move faster dammit! My eyes caught one of the signs up-ahead that ever so helpfully stated that it would take me five minutes to reach Gate 12. Why were my legs so vertically challenged? Charles may as well be a giant; he was covering the ground with such ease by comparison. I bet this distance is nothing compared to what he would normally have to cover in a PT session. Not to mention doing it in full kit. I was practically sprinting now in an effort to keep up and not fall behind, my lungs screaming at me as I tried to take in more oxygen whilst simultaneously trying to keep the cups from spilling over me. Maybe I should just throw them away? "Come on Dawes put some bloody effort in," I heard someone shout ahead of me. Effort? Was he bloody joking? I'm not letting him get away with talking to me as if I was one of his squaddies, the cheeky bastard! I looked up to find Charles stood casually by the gate at the end of the corridor, looking as if he'd just stepped off a runway. How the hell did he get there so fast I wondered as I came to a screeching stop next to him panting for breath, a stitch already forming in my side. I dread to think what I looked like. No doubt my hair is a mess and I'm probably sporting a face as red as a tomato. Brilliant.

As I rounded the corner, trying to get my breath back, I was greeted by an overly cheery clerk who smiled flirtatiously at Charles whilst making no secret of the fact that she was shamelessly eying him from head to toe. "You're just in time. You only had two minutes to spare before the gate closed." She positively simpers, her voice dripping with sugar her eyes wide and her shoulders pushed back leaving her ample assets deliberately on full display as she takes his documents completely missing the strained yet slightly uncomfortable look on his face. With a nod she hands it back before reaching a manicured hand out for my pass without uttering a word. Gritting my teeth I smiled stiffly as I hand over my boarding pass. I try to hide my growing anxiety as she takes her time deliberating over the document in her hands, her eyes flicking back and forth between the piece of paper and the computer screen in front of her. Eventually, she gives a tight fake smile and wishes us a safe flight as she lets us through the gate, sliding across the barrier as we pass. As he whisks me past her Charles leans down and whispers quietly in my ear, "Repeat after me Dawes. Do…."

"Do."

"Not."

"Not"

"Throw fucking hot tea at the desk clerk because I need you one hundred percent by my side if this trip is going to work." I couldn't hold back the unladylike snort even if I tried.

"Oh ha bloody ha," I grumbled, trying to hide my smile as I walk ahead of him up the steps of the plane, the rich rumble of his laugher sounding from behind me.

The flight to Edinburgh was short- an hour at the most. I looked out of the window and watched the familiar routine of the workers removing the blockers followed by the aircraft steps in preparation for take-off. Charles is sat next to me; his long legs nudging the back of the seat in front as he scanned the safety card in his hand. He tilted his head towards mine but kept his gaze focused on the flight attendant who was performing the safety briefing. "There is one….minor detail that I may have forgotten to mention until now," He whispered. My eyes narrowed suspiciously as I studied his face, but his expression gave nothing away. "Go on." He nodded towards the phone clutched tightly in my hand.

"Your Nan wanted you to leave your phone off for the duration of the trip." I felt my neck crack as my head whipped ninety degrees to look at him. "May I ask why?"

"No distractions." Just like that- no further explanation needed. I did consider the request for a second… Or two. "No. Absolutely not. I can't turn it off. I need it for work. I answer my emails and set up appointments on it. I don't mind going along with everything else but this? No, no way." I heard Charles sigh next to me. "Well would it help if I said we should both keep our phones off, maybe check messages at the end of each day- would that be a fair compromise?"

"I don't need to compromise thank you very much."

"Hummm ok. Although, to be fair," He shook his head, "No don't worry, it doesn't matter."

"No go on. What were you going to say?" He sighed in resignation as he leaned back in his seat.

"It's just your Nan did warn me about you, that's all. She said you wouldn't be able to survive without your phone glued to your hand twenty four seven. She reckons you can't live without Wi-Fi, Sky TV, Top Shop or a Starbucks either." I smiled sadly as my gaze fell to the lifeline clasped in my hand. Taking a deep breath I quickly switched it off, stuffing it in my back before I changed my mind. "She loves…..loved to exaggerate. I spend half my life in places without any of that and I get along just fine." Charles only chuckled in response. When the steward began the drinks service, Charles delved into his backpack and handed me a letter in a sealed envelope. I didn't need to read the handwriting on the front to know it was from Nan. As I opened it with shaking fingers, I half expected it to be a couple of pages of prose, but this time she'd written very little:

Molly,

Now it's your turn to start living your life on the other side of the lens instead of watching everyone else do it.

Love

Nan Xxx

I stared at the headrest in front of me slightly bemused. Sensing a pair of eyes on me, I silently handed it to Charles to read. "What exactly has Nan got planned with this bucket list Charles? Do I need to be worried?" A wry smile flitted across Charles' face as he carefully folded the letter and handed it back to me. "Worried? Never. Excited? Absolutely." I smiled good-naturedly, and turned my attention to the rolling British landscape that stretched out below us. The patchwork squares in various shades of green and brown looked exactly like my old knitted quilt from home with the fields being stitched together by lines of neat hedgerows around the edges. Somehow, his words still didn't fill me with confidence. "Have you ever thought about it?" I asked softly, my eyes trained on the lone water droplet that was racing its way across the window. "Thought about what?" A crease appeared between Charles' brows; clearly I'd confused him.

"Your own bucket list. I know that being in the army you must be pretty resigned to the fact that anything could happen to you and that there's a chance that you'd be seriously injured or not come home at all. Does it ever get you thinking about your regrets or wondering about things you might have missed out on?" Charles smiled wistfully, his eyes seeing something far away.

"I can't afford regrets Molly. My job needs me to stay alert and focused at all times; to be there in the moment. If I let regret sow a seed and take root in me, letting it fester and grow, then it's as if I've already given up before I've even started. I have to keep fighting, looking forward instead of back because it's the only choice I have. It's what gets me through. But if you're asking me if there are things that I still want to experience then the answer is yes of course. I think everyone on some deep level yearns for an adventure. It's the Peter Pan in us I suppose." I remain quiet as I process his answer. "What about you? Are you a bit of a thrill seeker? You're a war photographer, you've probably seen just as much bad stuff as I have. What made you decide to go down that route? "

"I don't know really. I've always been fascinated by people and the stories behind the photos I take; Like secrets waiting to be discovered. I suppose in some way I can relate to that. When you're thrown in the middle of a war zone you become trapped in that moment. Nothing else exist beyond that. Sometimes I feel utterly hopeless compared to what everyone else is doing around me. But the job also forces you to open your eyes and really see. I see the best and worse in humankind. You're trained to take notice of the little things just as much as the big, louder things. It's those quiet, intimate moments that might be missed in the aftermath that intrigue me the most. That's what it's all about for me. It's why I fell in love with photography to begin with. I love finding something interesting in the ordinary. It's more about feeling rather than looking. If I can't feel what I'm looking at then I'm never going to get others to feel anything when they look at my pictures." Charles was silent for a while as he tried to make sense of everything I'd just said. In all honesty, I hadn't meant to get all dark and twisty so early on, but something about his manner made it easy for me to open up. I hadn't had that in a long time.

"Your Nan's note makes more sense now," He muttered quietly, his eyes meeting mine fiercely. "As the photographer, you're just the ghost behind the camera that blends into the background. Maybe this is her way of telling you that it's time to stop focusing on other people's lives and start taking pictures that tell your own story. Despite all we've seen, there is still good in the world Molly. You just need to look a little bit harder to find it. I think that's what this trip is really about, helping you to find the magic in the world again. You never know, you might even tick a few items off your own photo bucket list whilst we're at it." I looked at him suspiciously.

"Who says I've got a photo bucket list?" Charles winked at me.

"Every photographer has a bucket list Molly," He replied knowingly, completely dodging the question. I remained quiet thinking about all Charles had said. In all honesty I hadn't thought about it like that before. But now that Charles had said it, it all made perfect sense. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

As soon as we landed, Charles led us out of the airport terminal where we stood shivering in the early morning air as we waited for the Airlink bus to arrive. Catching my slightly bemused expression Charles was quick to explain, "We won't need a car in Edinburgh, it's a city that's best appreciated on foot." I busied myself with staring out of the window at the unfamiliar scenery stretching out before me. The bus route took us directly from the airport before heading east towards the centre of Old Town. My eyes lit up with interest as the urban houses, various hotels and shop chains of the new slowly began to intertwine with the old gothic buildings nestled amongst narrow alley ways and cobbled streets that make up the medieval part of the city. I had to admit I was starting to feel a little bit excited about what Nan had in store for us.

When we disembarked at Waverly Bridge, the bridge that links the old town with the new, we both stood leaning against the bridge to admire the view in comfortable silence. Watching Charles from the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but notice how much more relaxed he seemed. "So what's on the agenda first then?" I asked. Charles bit his lip and nods his head to the right. Craning my neck upwards, my eyes fall onto the soot stained structure of Scott Monument. The imposing gothic tower, dedicated to Sir Walter Scott, stands tall and solemn over the skyline like a stone soldier standing guard over Prince Street Gardens. "Fancy a nice gentle climb before breakfast?" Charles asks, his eyes twinkling. Sensing my hesitating, he carried on, "The views are spectacular. You won't be disappointed, I promise."

"Oh no, it's not that," I mutter staring at the structure thoughtfully. "I just don't fancy lugging my luggage up there with me."

"Already covered Molly. I phoned ahead and the ticket office are happy to keep our luggage for us. Now come on, stop stalling, lets go!"

After walking around the base of the monument for a good five minutes, we eventually found the entrance, a small wooden building, at the south- west foot of the monument. After disposing of our luggage at the entrance we began to climb. I must admit, I'm normally alright when it comes to heights, but even I was finding this a bit of a struggle. The climb was steep, the stairs winding around and around in a tight, seemingly endless spiral. Eventually we reached the first platform and I looked around at the small museum room in awe. It was lit by a series of beautiful stained glass windows and carved panels depicting the history of the Scott crest. Taking a few minutes to snap a few pictures, I was ready to continue the climb to the next viewing platform. As we climbed higher, the stairwell became narrower and tighter until I had to pause. Just as I started to feel the panic claw its way up my throat, I felt a gentle pressure on my hip and a calm, reassuring voice in my ear. "Stay with me Molly, you're nearly there. Take your time, just a few more steps." Closing my eyes as I sucked in a deep breath, I pushed on until we finally reached the top.

The brisk wind that hit my flushed cheeks was a welcome relief as I allowed Charles to gently steer me to the side by my waist. Finally opening my eyes I couldn't hold back the gasp as my eyes drank in the breath-taking views of the entire city. The photographer in me couldn't wait to start taking pictures, but I hardly knew which way to turn. To the west, the slowly rising sun flooded Old Town, Sailsbury Crags and Arthur's Seat in a warm looking, golden hue. On the north facing side, The Scottish National Gallery could be seen rising up from its perch on The Mound. Beyond that, the rocky black crags of Castle Rock loom over Edinburgh with the castle sitting majestically atop of the volcanic outcrop, like a regal king presiding over his subjects below. As we turned south, we were met with a beautiful view of the Balmoral hotel. The imposing building, that normally dwarfs you as you stare up at it from ground level, looks awfully small and toy like when viewing it at level with the hotel's iconic clock, with Carlton Hill and its monuments behind it.

Once we'd walked around the entire expanse of the building, and taken an obligatory selfie, we began our slow and careful descend to ground level. As soon as we were out in the open, Charles delved into his rucksack and handed me a map, our route highlighted in yellow. "Do you want me to give you directions to the hotel?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the view to stare sceptically at the map in my hands. Charles glanced across at me and tried to hide a smirk. "Tell me something Dawes, did you pass geography at school?" My brow creased in confusion at the spark of amusement I could see dancing in his eyes.

"Not really…why?"

"Oh no reason only should there come a time in future when you're need of those skills, you might want to …" he twirled his finger in the general direction of the map in my hands.

"I might want to what?"

"….turn the map around if you're going to give anyone directions. The maps upside down." I didn't need to look at his face to know he was taking the piss. Again.

"Oh piss off," I mumbled blushing in embarrassment as I knocked my shoulder with his sending him stumbling over the curb with a laugh. "I don't need a map. That's what Google Maps is for. I can use that just fine thank you very much." Charles put his hands on his hips and tiled his head down until we were eye to eye, the slight quirk of his brown suggesting that he was about to disagree with me. "Oh yeah? And what if, god forbid, you're in a place with no signal or in a situation, like now, when you can't use your phone?" I fell silent as I contemplated what he said. Well shit! He had me there didn't he? Taking pity on me, Charles took the map, turning it the right way up, before guiding us across the bustling bridge and up a slightly steeper incline. The walk was slow as I repeatedly kept stopping to admire the windows of independent shops as well as the impressive architecture of the four story buildings that snaked their way around Cockburn Street, taking us deeper into Old Town. Originally built as a gentler thoroughfare to link Waverley Station to The Royal Mile, the sloping cobbled street slices through several medieval wynds and closes, notably, Fleshmarket Close made famous in the crime novel by Ian Rankin. As much as I was beginning to enjoy browsing the eclectic shop windows, I wasn't relishing the fact that my stomach was beginning to rumble nor that face was rapidly beginning to resemble a puffer fish as I tried in vain to drag my suitcase over the uneven cobles under my feet. I was relieved when the road finally evened out as we entered the high street.

We spent the better part of the morning strolling along The Royal Mile, ducking in and out of numerous specialist food and drink shops as well as the obligatory touristy shops selling cashmere, tartan and tweed. Charles left me alone for several minutes whilst he ducked through one doorway, only to appear minutes later carrying a small paper bag, the contents of which he refused to tell me about. Afterwards, we headed towards the Canongate end of the mile where we marvelled at the unusual modern architecture of the Parliament building, a stark contrast to the fleeting glimpse we had of Holyrood Palace as we stood staring at its grandeur through the palace gates. Heading back the way we came, we grabbed a late breakfast which we ate sat in Dunbar's Close gardens, a lovely secret garden hidden away from the hustle and bustle of the Royal Mile.

"I've got something for you Dawes," Charles muttered quietly, as if afraid to break the quiet, tranquil bubble we'd been sat peacefully in as we watched the world go on around us. I raised an eyebrow as he placed the small paper back I'd seen earlier in my lap. Peeking inside I couldn't help but laugh as I pulled out a lovely, soft tartan scarf.

"It's beautiful, thank you," I muttered quietly as I ran a finger gently over the fabric.

"Your Nan left me strict instructions that I was to buy you one to remind you of this part of the trip. She told me once how, when you were little, you used to steel her tartan scarf and wrap it around you to keep you warm because you were always cold. This way, you've got your own authentic piece of Scotland, and you'll never be cold again." I laughed as he took the scarf gently from my hands and wound it carefully around my neck. "There you go Dawes, you'll fit right in now." Shaking my head at him, I smiled as I stared down at the red, blue and white checks that had become such a comfortable reminder of the fleeting warm days of my childhood. It seemed Nan was still intent on looking after me, even though she was no longer here to do it in person.

Thank you for the continual positive response to this story it means a lot. I've been dealing with a few personal issues over the last few weeks and haven't been in the write frame of mind for writing. This is the last chapter that has been pre-written which is why it's being posted. Updates may be a bit slower for a while, at least until I get back into the swing of things. On the plus side, terms ends in a few days so hopefully i'll find some much needed inspiration over the holidays.

For those kind reviewers enquiring about Sleepless in Seattle, I haven't abandoned it and I fully intend to finish it, I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

Edinburgh-

4th -6th May Part 2

If there was one aspect about the trip that Nan wasn't able to plan for, it was the weather. When we had first arrived in the city, the weather had looked promising. By late afternoon however, grey clouds had started to role in and the threat of rain was heavy in the air. Rather unluckily, we were in Edinburgh Castle strolling along the Argyle battery, a low rumble from overhead our only warning, when the heavens opened. With the path towards Mills Mount battery, where the One o'clock Gun stands, so exposed and open to the elements the aged cobbles of the floor became dark and slick with rain water within minutes. As if on instinct, Charles reached for my hand and together we sprinted towards the Redcoat café to try and find some form of shelter.

As we came skidding to a stop in the doorway, we both paused to catch our breath, hands still clasped, as we watched the rain pour. All of a sudden, there was a flash of purple light and the sky came alive, followed by a low rumble of thunder. I couldn't help but flinch. "That was a close one," Charles muttered quietly as he released my hand to run his fingers through his damp curls, his head tilted slightly to the left as he listened intently. "I was terrified of thunder and lightning for years as a kid," I found myself whispering all too aware that Charles had turned and was observing me quietly. Unable to meet his gaze, I kept my eyes fixed resolutely ahead. "What were you afraid of?" Charles pitched his voice so low that I nearly missed his hesitant question over another boom of thunder. It was definitely getting closer now.

"Bad memories mostly. The most vivid ones always seem to be during storms. We'd often end up with a power cuts in that part of London when the weather was really bad. I remember one time being shut up in my room in the dark, all alone, as I listened to the intermittent screaming of my parents being drowned out by ferocious crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. I'm not sure what scared me more if I'm honest." My jaw clenched as I bit out the last sentence. I've probably said too much. I know next to nothing about this man and yet here I am giving him my life story. Charles remained quiet, as if unsure of what to say. "How did you overcome your fears?" he finally asked. I couldn't stop the slight quirk of my lips as I finally raised my head to look him in the eye.

"Nan". Charles nodded slightly, as if already expecting my answer. "She found me one night, not long after I moved in. I was huddled under the covers at the foot of the bed shaking like a leaf. She didn't say anything. She just gathered me to her and we sat together in the window seat watching the waves by torch light. She scared the living daylights out of me when she threw all the windows open wide letting the sound and the rain come in. She sat there and held me, whispering over and over that there was nothing to be afraid of because the lightning was just talking and the thunder was only answering back. She taught me to count Mississippi's so I knew how far away the thunder really was. Like always, she seemed to know exactly what to do heal old wounds and make me feel loved and wanted. I still open all the windows whenever there's a storm." Charles smiled sadly as he continued to watch the forks of lightning dance their way across the charcoal sky streaked with smudges of purple. The summer downpour had eased off just as quickly as it had started yet that fresh smell still remained. I'd always loved the scent of petrichor; that earthy smell of rain falling on dry earth after a long dry period. It reminded me of home.

"You know," Charles spoke quietly, pulling me from my reverie. "I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said that you should do one thing every day that scares you." I raised an eyebrow, unsure of where he was going. "Ok," I muttered sceptically, dragging out the o sound. "So?" I knew I must be giving him an odd look. I never did have a good poker face.

"So," Charles drawled as he reached out, his long fingers enclosing around my camera bag as he slid the strap tantalisingly slowly off my shoulder, along my arm before enclosing my fingers around the warn strap. My eyes followed his movements, his hand leaving a trail of goosebumps along my arm in its wake. "Even in our darkest times, there's always a slither of light at the end of the tunnel. You just have to be brave enough to chase after it. The question is are you brave enough?"

"To what?"

"To chase the light? or lightning in this case." My gaze flicked back and forth between him and the camera between us as I tried to comprehend what he had just said but his face gave nothing away. Finally, Charles' head jerking up towards the sky just as another flash and a crack threatened to split the sky in half. My eyes widened as my brain finally caught on to what he wanted me to do.

"No. No way! Have you lost your bloody mind? Do you have any idea how hard it is to do?" What on earth was he playing at?

"Nope." I frowned as he popped the p. "Why don't you show me?" I studied his face as our eyes met. His eyes danced with humour, a spark of challenge alight in their dark depths as his mouth curved into a smirk. "C'mon Dawes, you can't run from fear, you have to work through it. Trust me I should know."

"Sorry to disappoint you," I grouched, "but I think I filled my scare quota for today. I did get on a plane and agree to do this trip with a complete stranger didn't I? That was scary enough. How do I know you aren't a psychopath or something?" Charles chuckled as he slip my tripod out from the side pocket and began assembling it as he spoke. "Ahh but Dawes, you're forgetting one little thing… I'm not scary am I?" I snorted at his comment, choosing to ignore the way my heartbeat suddenly began increasing when he flashed a roguish smile at me. "You could still be a dangerous psychopath though," I shot back with a smirk of my own as he burst into laughter. Not dangerous indeed. Had he looked at himself lately? He has no bloody idea. He stood, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, refusing to drop his gaze from our stare off as he waited to see what my next move would be. My eyes narrowed as I remembered who I was up against. This wasn't Nan or Qaseem, who I'd had wrapped around my finger pretty much from the moment we first met. This was a hardened soldier, unflappable under pressure. Charles was someone who was used to giving orders, expecting everyone else around him to back down and fall in line without question.

With a resigned sigh, I pulled out my camera and positioned the tripod behind the One o' clock gun. Nan was always telling me I had to choose my battles wisely and accept when I was beaten. This was obviously one of those times. After several minutes of fiddling around with various dials and lenses to ensure I had the right settings and exposure, the camera was ready to go. "What now?" Charles asked curiously as he watched me angle the tripod over the skyline of Edinburgh. The barrel of the 105 mm field gun, was just visible in the bottom of the shot; the rest of the frame was clear sky. "Now we wait and hope my reflexes haven't slowed over the shutter button. It's been a while since I've had to do live action shots."

The skyline over Edinburgh was truly beautiful; the current weather lending itself well to a city famed for its gothic ambiance. The charcoal grey clouds were back lit by an indigo skyline with shades of navy, purple and pinks bleeding into one another as if an artist had swirled their paintbrush across the sky. Hearing another clap of thunder I felt the muscles in my back and arms tense in anticipation as my finger hovered over the shutter release button. Taking a shaky breath I pressed the button, just as the next bold struck. Over the next 30 minutes, I managed to take a series of twenty second exposures. I was like a kid in a candy store as I watched the clouds swell and ripple with ominous energy seconds before a series of lightning forks jumped their way across the historic buildings of Old Town. You could almost taste the electricity in the air. I could barely keep still, my body humming with restless energy, heightening my sense of excitement as I pressed the shutter button again just as a fork of lightning struck above the tip of Scott's monument; my instincts screaming that this was one was the money shot.

Feeling somewhat breathless, I looking up to see that Charles had been watching me the entire time with a small smile on his face. I'd been so focused on what I was doing I'd almost forgot that I had an audience. The world around me had ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was me and the subject I was trying to shoot. The rain and wind had picked up once again causing the storm clouds to begin rolling further west leaving the thunder to grumble in its wake. Letting out a giggle, I found myself doing something I hadn't done in years. Closing my eyes and tilted head back, I spread my arms out wide and began spinning on the spot, laughing as I felt the droplets of rain roll down my face. It had been a long time since I'd felt that buzz of adrenaline whilst on a job. Was this what Nan had meant when she told me to find the beauty in the world around me? Had I really just been on auto pilot all this time? A light pressure on my hand and around my waist pulled me from my thoughts. Opening my eyes, I found my body inches away from Charles. "What are you doing?" I laughed as I let him spin me under his arm.

"What does it look like Dawes? We're dancing."

"I know that but why?" Charles chuckled.

"Because sometimes life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass…it's about learning to dance in the rain. I don't think you realise just how absorbed you were just then. You weren't aware of anything or anyone else around you. Your movements were so fluid and precise, like you weren't thinking at all. You were so focused and alert."

Shaking my head ruefully, I let out another shriek of laughter as Charles tried to lead me into a basic waltz step before bending me gracefully backwards into a deep dip just as series of blinding flashes left me seeing stars. Feeling dazed, I gazed up at him as he held us in position noticing, for the first time, just how close we were. My god it must be illegal to be that handsome surely? Maybe I just need to get laid. It had been far too long. Neither of us moved. I was trying desperately to ignore the weird butterflies I got in my stomach every time our eyes met. Whatever the feeling was it definitely weren't good. The spell was broken by a crackly voice over a speaker reminding us that the castle was due to close and could we please begin making our way towards the exit. Straightening up, I began to pack away my equipment, hoping, that our gamble with the lightning would pay off. "So where to now Mr Secret Keeper?" I joked as I tried to navigate around the tourists stumbling their way out through the gates whilst juggling my luggage and an umbrella. "I think it's time we found our hotel, dry off, and got some dinner don't you?" Just as I was about to answer, my stomach chose that precise moment to make itself heard. I couldn't help but blush as Charles chuckled. "Come on then, lets go."

Charles wouldn't tell me anything about where we were staying, so I had little choice but to follow him as he led us back towards Princes Street, then down Fredrick street. After nearly 15 minutes of walking away from the heart of the city, we finally turned into a quiet residential crescent aligned with gas lamps that bathed the pavement in a soft warm glow. It was like something out of a period drama. Charles finally came to a stop in front of a set of wrought iron railings. If it weren't for the bold gold lettering above the doorway, I would scarcely have realised that we had arrived at a hotel at all; it blended in seamlessly with the other elegant Georgian townhouses in the row. The Nira Caledonia is made up of two grade A listed buildings with north facing sash windows. As we stepped through the narrow doorway into the reception area we were greeted by a cheerful receptionist behind the check in desk. I let Charles take the lead as my eyes eagerly took in the subtle art deco theme; from the patterned wallpaper, to the ornate cornices on the high ceilings and the sweeping staircases leading to the upper floors, the place had a quirky bohemian charm to it whilst still managing to feel contemporary and up to date.

As I watched Charles hand over our booking confirmation it occurred to me that I had no idea what his surname was. "Two rooms, booked under the name of James please," Ah well there you go. Now at least I knew his full name. The receptionist tapped away at her computer before giving a satisfied nod. "Ah yes here we are. James, two rooms for two nights, bed and breakfast." She reached out and handed us two sets of keys. "It says here that there has been a request for an upgrade so you've both been placed in two of our suits. They're next door to each other on the second floor. Breakfast is served until 10 and room service till 11.00. We hope you enjoy your stay." Smiling courteously, Charles gathered our luggage and began ascending the tight, curved stair case. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of calling ahead and ordering room service. I figured you'd want to eat in your room tonight instead of going out again." Oh how right he was. My calf muscles screamed in protest every time I climbed a step and I couldn't wait to get into bed. "That sounds perfect thank you. I'm knackered. I expect i'll be asleep before the springs even hit the floor." Charles looked at me in disbelief as he placed my suitcase in front of my door.

"What does that even mean Dawes?" I gave a light shrug.

"No idea, just something my Nan used to say every night." Chuckling Charles shook his head as he turned and made his way to his own room. "Goodnight Dawes, sleep well. We've got an early start tomorrow. I'll see you at breakfast." As I watched him open his own door, his words suddenly hit me.

"Wait! What do you mean early start? How early?" Poking his head around the door frame he winked. "I'll see you downstairs at 0630. Sharp." With a smirk and a wink at my scandalised expression he was gone.

Opening the door to my room, my jaw dropped. Despite the fact that I lived the majority of my life in hotels and hostels, I'd never stayed anywhere quite as decadent as this. The room was so big it could easily fit my entire flat in it. The living area held a tartan sofa, a flat screen tv, a small coffee table, a sideboard and a large bookcase. Beyond that the bedroom held a queen size bed, a wardrobe and a desk with every modern appliance I could dream of. It even had a Nespresso machine! The whole room was decorated in a pallet of charcoal grey and teal hues, with sumptuous soft furniture, dark wood floors and statement light fixtures. My favourite feature though had to be the large sash windows with the high backed Queen Ann chair that overlooked the street below.

After I'd ordered room service I felt bone weary and flopped backwards onto the Queen sized bed. It had been such a peculiar day. Just yesterday, I'd been back home in Cirencester preparing for my photoshoot only to find myself somehow suddenly whisked hundreds of miles away at my Nan's behest with a total stranger. Despite all the initial fuss, I found I was enjoying the time away, not to mention the company. Nan had been right. I found I was enjoying Charles' company (Maybe a little too much.) He was easy to talk to and despite the authoritative air, there was something unassuming about him also. He seemed to draw people to him and make them warm to him without even trying. I had no doubt that this was the same impression he gave Nan and wondered, not for the first time, how much she really knew about him. I made a mental note to try and learn more about him whilst we were traipsing around the country together.

Speaking of which, I should probably check in with Dangles. No doubt he and the lads are set to send out a search party if they don't hear from me by dark. Turning on my phone and ignoring the sudden influx of texts and emails from work I messaged Dangles:

Everything is fine. In Edinburgh of all places! Soldier boy came after all J

Grinning to myself, I counted to five in my head. By the time I hit three, my display lit up with Dangles' name.

"I knew it! You're useless, Dawesy. He'd better not be good-looking" err…..

"Actually, he's good fun. He's not bad looking- in a rugged sort of way. I'm actually having a good time." Dangles sighed. Uh oh! I knew that tone. Shuffling back against the headboard I grabbed my camera and began flicking through the photos only half listening to what Dangles was saying.

"Just hold on there a minute Missy! Good fun you say? Need I remind you that you were the one who said you'd lob him onto the M25 if he refused to listen to you? I've been checking the news and everything." I rolled my eyes. Dangles always was one for the dramatics. He'd clearly been hanging around Fingers for too long. My eyes fell on the last few shots we'd taken that day during the lightning storm. Some were simply stunning. Scrolling along, my finger paused as I stared at a picture I had no recollection of taking. " Does this mean soldier boy has got more muscles than me if he's all rugged?" Dangle's voice brought me up short.

"Everyone has got more muscles than you Dangles. Face it. You won't get anywhere if you keep avoiding the gym. It's time to put your big girl pants on and man up. Oh and to answer your question, yes he is fit."

"God I hate him….is he married?"

"No idea." I found myself staring at a picture of the two of us dancing in the rain. Charles had obviously set the timer as it had caught us mid dip. My head was tiled back and my arms were stretched out wide. I was laughing whist Charles grinned down at me. In the background, just behind our heads, was a single bolt of pink lightning. Money shot indeed.

"Maybe you should ask him?"

"No way! Besides he probably wouldn't tell me anyway."

"Too true Dawes. Though if he starts banging on about a time when he got shot in the groin and needs you to check his rusty bullet hole, I advise you to tell him to sod off…immediately." Laughing I muttered. "Why don't you sod off? I'm bloody knackered and ready to hit my pit." Hearing noise in the background I just managed to catch Dangles' last words before he got cut off.

"Night Night Dawesy, don't let the Captain bite."

Turning off the phone, I spied my suitcase by the door. Easing it onto the bed, I opened it to find another note, presumably from Nan, on top of the clothes:

Enjoy! You are a stunningly beautiful woman, even if you don't realise it. Maybe it's time to make a bit more of an effort with your clothes. Believe me if I had an arse and boobs like yours I'd show them off with pride every chance I got. For if not now, then when?

Laughing to myself I couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped as I began taking the items out of the case. Leather knee high boots, heels and some ballet flats sat perfectly atop a pile of clothes. Pretty underwear and a silk nightshirt (Nan always hate the ratty t-shirt and bottoms I preferred,) fitted jeans, smart t-shirts and tops, jumpers, a blazer, leggings and dresses; it was a treasure chest of casual but beautiful staples that I could easily mix and match for every occasion. Molton Brown toiletries and a Bobbi Brown make up set topped the lot but also, a little out of place, there was a squishy carrier bag and another carrier-this time from a boutique – tucked underneath. Opening the carrier, I found my trusty combat boots (the Afghan dust still ingrained in the soles) with thick socks tucked inside and also, my waterproof coat and trousers that I kept down in Cornwall. What was she up to now? Turning my attention to the last bag, I opened it to find a gorgeous navy tulle skirt. It was an item of clothing I'd always dreamed of owning as a little girl, but had always had to make to with Nan's old net curtains. As I got older, I'd always talked myself out of getting one as I never went anywhere to wear it.

Looking at the bed, covered in her gifts, my eyes filled with tears as I realised that, once again, Nan had found a way to make sure I had everything I would ever need. Christmases, birthdays and other little treats here and there, for the years to come were all taken care of. I felt like a true fairy tale princess surrounded by beautiful offerings from far off lands. I'd give them all back if it meant I could have just five minutes more with her. It wasn't material possessions I needed, it never had been. I just wanted Nan. An hour or so later with my pillow damp with tears, I finally fell asleep, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews for last chapter. I hope you all enjoying the holidays.


	7. Chapter 7

Waking with a start the next morning, it took me several seconds to remember where I was. As my sleep addled brain finally got up to speed, the crushing w weeks slammed into me like a train. Reaching across to turn on the bedside lamp, I let out a groan when I read the time on my watch. It was four o' clock in the morning. I rubbed my face wearily, trying unsuccessfully to chase away the emotional cobwebs that still lingered from the events of yesterday. Knowing I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, I kicked back the covers and padded towards the bathroom to start the shower.

In record time-for me at least- I made my way downstairs, my combat boots dangling from my hand by their laces as I went in search of a cup of tea. Making my way into the dining room, where the staff were still finishing setting up for breakfast, I was unsurprised to see Charles tucked away at a table by the window nursing a cup of coffee whilst waxing his boots. Noticing my presence, he graced me with a smile. "So go on then, what's on the agenda for today?" I asked as I slid into a chair with a yawn, looking longingly at Charles's cup of coffee whilst rubbing my face wearily. "Well first of all, seeing as you're up so early, I thought we could take a walk up Arthur's Seat. It's a great place to see the sunrise. When we get to the top I'll give you your next letter." My heart clenched painfully at the thought of Nan's next letter.

"I don't mind a good walk, so long as I get breakfast first. And second of all?" Charles glanced up from his task, his face a picture of innocence.

"Second of all?" Charles asked.

"You started your first sentence with first of all, that would imply there was a second of all or else why would you say it?" He tilted his head to the side and appraised me for a few minutes. "Huh, Marge never said you were pedantic."

"Humm, well you're side stepping my question. So come on then, what's the second of all?" I narrowed my eyes at the now all too familiar quirk of his lips, as if he was amused by a joke that only he was aware of.

"It's a surprise," he remarked with a mysterious smile. I sighed warily as I rolled my eyes; it was like getting blood out of a stone.

"You know, if you keep doing that and the wind suddenly changes, your face will be stuck like that forever," I grumbled, watching in bemusement as Charles threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh.

"Oh dear, it sounds like I'm not the only one who can't function without a shot of caffeine first thing in the morning. Not to worry Dawes, I've got it all covered." He gestured to his elbow where I could see a steaming travel mug hidden by his folded arm. "Please tell me there's tea in there?" I pleaded staring at him beseechingly. Charles grinned.

"There is but it's getting cold so you better get a move on Dawes, we're on a bit of a tight schedule. We need to get moving." Following orders, I returned to my room with strict instructions to be back down in the lobby in ten minutes; just enough time to return upstairs to grab my waterproofs and camera bag whilst wondering yet again why I had agreed to this heir brained scheme.

Arthur's Seat, a dormant volcano that sits 251 m above sea level, lay crouched in the middle of Holyrood Park like a wary guardian snatching those precious few seconds of rest whilst taking repost from the charge. Its silhouette looms majestically overhead, rising up as if to touch the clouds above. From our starting point at Holyrood Palace car park, we followed the path that led us around Queen's drive and away from the main road. As we came towards Hunter's bog we took the left fork past the ruins of St Anthony's church. The walk was slow and steady with Charles walking ahead to guide our way along the uneven steep path, a torch our only source of light. At the ruins we paused for a moment to take it all in.

Very little is known about the chapel's origins. Some believe, based on its construction, that the chapel was once associated with Holyrood Abbey which stood a few hundred yards away. On the horizon, the sky was beginning to lighten to an inky purple with shafts of pale light slicing through the gaps between the clouds. The sun's rays chased their way up the ancient walls, bathing them in a warm orange glow and casting a spotlight on the shadows, coaxing them into revealing their hidden secrets. "It's beautiful," I whispered in awe.

"Yeah, it is." Charles spoke, pitching is voice low as if afraid of shattering the fragile air around us. Our hushed voices seemed to get caught within the walls making them echo clearly as though they came from all around, as if whispering in an ancient language long thought lost through the ages. The hair prickled on the back of my neck and along my arms

making me shiver. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Charles studying me.

"Come on Dawes, we better keep moving if we want to get there in time."

Leaving the Chapel behind us, we followed the line of cliffs known as Lang Rig (or Long Row) leading to the summit of Arthur's seat. Continuing along the grassy path, I could make out the shadowy lock of Dunsapie below us, with the Forth river beyond. I was starting to tire now, my calf muscles burning with the build-up of lactic acid. I pushed on, gathering momentum until we reached a flattened area. Stopping to catch my breath, I took a few more pictures before we moved on. As the summit drew nearer, the paths seemed to branch out into numerous directions. The ground under our feet grew rockier and more uneven with loose stones making the climb even harder. Charles forged on ahead pulling me up with a steadying hand on my elbow. The air had grown colder, the wind whipping fiercely around us almost in warning.

"Come on Dawes, you're practically there," Charles coaxed as I finally noticed the two stone markers indicating that we'd finally made it to the top of the summit.

Staring around me I couldn't help but gasp as I looked around as I scrambled over the rocks. I was lost for words, the views were simply breath-taking. From our vantage point the entire city stretched out before us. As I spun a complete circle I could make out Edinburgh castle, Carlton Hill and the labyrinth of winding streets and buildings. As the sun rose, the buildings were alight with a mixture of orange, yellows and pinks as if a child had smudged their paint brush in their pallet, blurring the edges of each colour until they bled into each other making it difficult to see where one colour started and the other ended.

I found a flat piece of ground and sat down, stretching my legs out in front of me as I busied myself with taking photos, trying to hide the fact that I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

"You alright Dawes," Charles asked sombrely as he crouched next to me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. My voice wavered as I replied, "Yeah, it's just a lot to take in that's all. I think it's beginning to finally hit me. I know this is what Nan wanted so I'll do it, even if I don't necessarily like it. Most people only get to scatter the ashes once. I get to do it how many times?"

"Three." Catching his eye we both laughed. "You can laugh Dawes, but at least you didn't have to divide them up into three different containers," He mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck almost bashfully.

"You what?" Sighing Charles dropped down beside me, letting his long legs swing over the edge. " I didn't want to carry all of the ashes with us to each location and find we didn't have any ehen we got to the end. Plus, how bad would that look at the airport? I 'd look like a…what is it you Cockney's say? A well dodge geeze." I chuckled at the affronted look on his face.

"So let me get this straight? You've actually got three sets of ashes prepared? How did you manage that without making a mess?" I didn't miss the shiver than ran through him nor the grimace on his face as he answered me. "You wouldn't believe the trauma of it Dawes. All I'll say is that it involved a mask, a funnel and quite a bit of booze." I smiled softly, imagining Nan would get a kick out of Charles having to do her bidding. We lapsed into silence both talking in everything around us. Taking a deep breath I finally looked across at Charles. "It's okay, you can give me the letter now. I'm ready." Smiling softly, Charles reached into his pocket and handled me a crumpled letter before getting up and turning his back, giving me privacy.

With shaking fingers I opened the letter.

 **Travone.**

 **Hello my love.**

 **I can imagine you (hopefully) enjoying a clear and bright morning. The sky will be awash with colour as you overlook the ancient city, a slight breeze ruffling your hair until you push it away from your eyes in agitation. Cursing yourself for not tying it up and threatening yet again to lop it all off to save the trouble. Am I right? Please don't Molls, you have lovely hair.**

 **I expect you're wondering why an old bird like me would send you all the way up to the top of the map, having never mentioned Edinburgh to you before now? Well, the truth is, this is where my story started. It seemed only fitting that a part of my story ends there too. Actually that's not entirely true. My story should have ended there, if only my life hadn't taken a different path. You see your Grandad wasn't my first love. A few months before I met a nice Scottish lad called Hamish Fraser. He was in the RAF see and had come into London to see the sights whilst on leave. He was good mates with my best friends brother so it was inevitable we would meet when out at some point. He was a bit posh, quiet and a bit serious, hardly spoke two words to me when we first met mind and took him even longer to ask me out; he was that nervous around us girls. Your army lot would probably have called him a 'Rupert." But he was a proper gent. He opened doors for me, pulled out me chair and treated me like a queen.**

 **He opened my eyes to a world beyond the East End. Somehow, he saw something else in me that nobody else did, he encouraged me to be better, to want more form my life. We spend hours just talking about the places we'd like to go and the things we'd see along the way. I fell head over hills for him and soon we were engaged to be married, making plans to start a new life in Edinburgh, where he was from. Even now as I sit here I can still hear his voice and picture those cobbled streets and famous landmarks as he described his childhood antics growing up in Edinburgh. It's as if he is sat right next to me. We'd planned on getting married in Edinburgh and walking up to Arthur's seat on our wedding night where we'd enjoy our first sunrise as man and wife. Hamish said it feels like you are stood at the top of the world, where anything was possible. He would know; Arthur's seat was his childhood playground. He even got into trouble for carving his initials on one of the markers at the summit.**

 **I couldn't wait to start our new life Molls. Then everything went a bit shit. My parent's didn't approve of the match when they found out. They both thought I was aiming far above my station, trying to be someone I wasn't. They thought Hamish was too posh for the likes of me. I should be focusing on settling down with a nice East End lad and making babies, not making unrealistic plans to swan off to explore far off places. Why would I want to fill your head with such nonsense? We fought and harsh words were said on both sides (words we couldn't take back) until eventually Dad gave me an ultimatum. I had to choose between Hamish or my family. If I chose Hamish, he's cut me out of everyone's lives for good.**

 **I'll admit I got scared Molls and started to have second thoughts about Hamish. He tried to change my mind, but I couldn't lose my family in the end. He was understandably devastated and returned to the RAF soon after. I didn't hear from him again. I heard from my mate that he eventually met someone else, but even we fell out of touch eventually. It was around this time that your Grandad appeared on the scene and began showing an interest in me. I'm ashamed to admit, that I let my head get turned by his Triumph- Herald. I ballsed up and chose him because he was the easier, safer choice.**

 **I let the good one go Molls. Don't get me wrong, I grew immensely fond of your Grandad but I think, deep down, my heart will always belong with Hamish.**

 **I guess, what I'm trying to say is, don't take the easy road. Just because something is easy, doesn't make it the right choice. Don't be afraid to put your heart on the line and fight for something if you really want something. Find yourself a goodun' my girl and don't let him get away.**

 **Lots of love,**

 **Nan.**

 **P.S: As you travel around the world, take a good look at the sky; it's a different kind of blue wherever you go. I'm sorry I never told you any of this in person but now it's your turn to finish my story. Someone once said that when you lose someone unexpectedly, you don't lose them all at once. Instead, you lose them in pieces over a long time: the way the mail stops coming, how their scent slowly fades form their pillows and even from the clothes hung in the wardrobe or tucked away in drawers. Gradually you accumulate the parts of them that are gone. I've tried to give you the pieces of me that matter the most. The ones that will, hopefully, help you find the pieces of your own puzzle that are missing.**

 **I'm handing you the pieces of my puzzle Molly. It's time for you to put them together. Go to Edinburgh, see the things I should have seen and write the end chapter to my story. Only promise me, you'll give us both a happy ending. Oh one last thing before I go, when you do reach the top, look out for that marker and see if Hamish's initials are still there.**

Swallowing the lump in my throat I handed Charles the letter. The sun had fully risen and I could make out groups of walkers scattered at various points down the mountain. I knew we wouldn't be alone for long. Ignoring Charles' question from behind me, I began to scramble up the mount, ignoring the way my feet slid across the smooth surface beneath my heat. At the top, I let my eyes scan frantically across the stone, before doing the same on either side. Finally on the south side of the stone, near the bottom left corner I found what I was looking for. In jagged strokes, silvery initials stood out against the dark graffiti paint: HAF.

Seeing a shadow fall over the stone, I looked over my shoulder to see Charles staring down at me, concern burning in his gaze. "Did you find it?" He asked softly. I nodded and pointed to the corner of the stone. Saying nothing, Charles reached into his backpack and handed me his pocket knife. "Time to put a piece of your own puzzle in place Molly."

With unsteady hands, I began to scratch mine and Charles initials on the stone in the small space above Hamish's. "There!" I cried triumphantly looking up just in time for Charles to snap my picture. The sun is lighting me from behind and for the first time in what feels like years, I have a true smile on my face and I feel truly free.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As we moved away from the summit the path widened enough so we could walk side by side. The wind had dissipated and I began to feel noticeably warmer. Taking off my jacket I tied it round my waist whilst the words from Nan's latest letter rattled around in my head. Eying Charles from the corner of my eye I asked casually, "You must have travelled around the country quite a bit, Charles?"

"Yes, I suppose I have." I paused briefly, biting my lip as I contemplated how to say what I wanted to say.

"Do you think the sky is a different colour blue everywhere you go?" Charles tilted his head to the side as he took in the landscape. "Can't say I've given I much thought. So long as I got to see the sun at the beginning of each new day I was a happy man; why do you ask?"

"Just something Nan said in her letter; that I should look up at the sky as we travel around…. Something about it being different no matter where you are in the world. One of the many odd things she'd come out with I suppose." Charles stopped walking and we both stared up in bemusement at the sky. "Actually, you know what? Now that I think about it, I think I know what she means," he replied with a fond smile as if he could hear Nan voicing those very words in the air around us. "What do you think? Will this spot do?" Behind me, I heard Charles rummaging inside his backpack before he handed me a small colourful container with a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. Somehow, knowing he was nearby make what I was about to do infinitely easier. Cradling the container carefully to my chest, I took a minute to catch my breath and prepare myself for letting this small piece of Nan go. I can hear her amused voice over my shoulder berating me about getting all sentiment and telling me to hurry the hell on with it so we can all get down this mountain and find a good cup of tea; possibly with something stronger added in. Almost as if channelling Nan himself, Charles chose the exact moment I raised my arms up and tilted my wrist to speak. "Now Dawes, I know this is a sensitive moment and all," Charles called over the breeze, the humour clear in his tone, "but remember to keep your back to the wind and your mouth closed when you tip out the ash alright."

Afterwards, we carried on down the hill in silence until, from nowhere, Charles turned to me and asked, "When was the last time you ran down a hill at full pelt?" He tightened the straps of his rucksack as he walked. "I beg your pardon?" His eyes were alight with mischief as he turned to me to explain. "You know, just let everything go and run down a hill, all child-like and out of control. No cares, no worries no bloody war and all that." I paused thoughtfully at his questions. When was the last time I'd been as carefree as he'd described? Had I ever?

"1996."

Charles threw his head back and laughed as we carried on walking. "I wasn't expecting you to be quite so ….specific."

"Oh trust me I could even tell you what date it was." He glanced at me inquisitively. "I was seven by the time Nan was allowed to bring me down to Cornwall to live with her permanently. She'd promised me she'd walk me down to Travone Bay to show me the beach and the sea. I'd never even seen a real beach at that point and I was growing impatient as the day wore on, itching to get down there despite the fact it was blowing a gale and bloody freeing. Nan would often get…side tracked by the guests at the B and B."

"Yes I remember; he agreed warmly, "She always made time for a chin wag in the mornings."

"I don't know if you're aware but Windmill Hill is pretty steep- and I mean really steep- with lots of tight bends. I was running so fast- desperate to get their before the sand disappeared – that once I started I couldn't stop the momentum."

"What happened? Although I think I can guess."

"Well you know how the council put out piles of grit on the roads in the winter in case the roads get icy?"

"Yes…" I chose to ignore the laugher I detected in his voice as I continued on with my story.

"There was a pile of it left on one of the bends outside the little corner shop- you can see where I'm going with this surely?" He nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in an effort not to laugh at my misery. "Well, lets just say I tripped in spectacular fashion and ended up cartwheeling head first into the pile of grit- in front of a group of villagers coming out of the corner shop. Not the kind of first impression I'd planned on making to the locals but there you go."

"Well at least it was a soft-landing." I glared at Charles' failed attempts to hide his laughter.

"You're kidding me right? My face was pot marked for weeks with all this scabby ingrained gritty stuff. The kids thought I'd overcome a case of the Chicken Pox when I first started at the village school, until word got round of my impressive acrobatic abilities then everyone wanted to see my cartwheel. I've still got a scar on my chin from where my front tooth went through my bottom lip…here, look!" I stuck out my chin for him to examine.

"I can just imagine the scene," He laughed as he ran a gentle thumb over the scar sending shock waves down my spine. "Well, it's time you put this particular ghost to rest. Hold my hand and I promise- this time- you won't fall." Before I could make some lame joke like "I'll never let go Jack," Charles had taken my hand tightly in his own. "One, two, three…run." My gasp of shock followed quickly by my laugher reverberated through the ancient hills. My lungs hadn't had such a workout in quite some time- the poor things had to cope with both sprinting and laughing at once. We ran for a few hundred yards over the brow of a hill only for the path on the other side to suddenly narrow down to a steep gravel track that stopped dead right in front of a cliff face. I was transported back to 1996 in an instant. This time however, I had Charles there to save me. Rather than allow me to smash head first into the stone, Charles veered to the side and turned his body to face me as he skidded to a stop. I crashed into him at considerable speed, forcing both of us to fall backwards into a grassy ditch to the side of the path. We lay there for a good five minutes laughing and gasping for breath, ignoring the disapproving stares of both seasoned hikers as they marched past and angst ridden parents trying to persuade their excited children that no they most definitely could not try running down the nest hill they come across.

The path had taken us perilously close to the cliff edge, the wild crags and tufts of overgrown grass dropping away to reveal the picturesque skyline of Edinburgh below with Leith just visible in the far distance. Somehow, it reminded me of home. "I love cliff walks. It must be something to do with spending years rambling along the headlands near Travone and Padstow," I muttered, suddenly overcome with nostalgia. "Yes," Charles agreed wistfully, "The views around there are pretty special." I found myself wondering, not for the first time, what unhappiness in life had let him to knock on Malie Point's door.

"You know it's strange, but I don't remember ever seeing you at Malie Point even though you said you've been there quite often. I'm sure I would have remembered you if we'd been there at the same time." Charles smiled softly as he took my hand to help me over a particularly rough patch of ground before he answered my question. "Well it's the sort of place you go to when you want to get away from it all, so I pretty much kept myself to myself. I remember you though." He looked at me with a shy unassuming smile as he spoke. I couldn't work him out. One minute he was the epitome of confidence, the take control captain, the next, a bashful young boy. Those eyes were familiar though-nobody could forget those in a hurry. So why couldn't I remember him? "I've seen you a few times at the retreat. Don't you remember Two Section introducing us?" I shook my head, suddenly ashamed that I couldn't remember him. "We've definitely met before then? Seriously? And you've met Two Section?"

"Oh yes I've met Two section. They're a hard platoon to forget. I couldn't forget them if I tried and yes we have met. Seriously." I started at him in shock wiling my uncooperative brain to conjure up an image of him at Malie Point. "I'm so sorry. I just don't remember. It must be old age," I joked in an effort to hide my embarrassment causing Charles to roll his eyes. "If you think your old, you must think me positively ancient. It's no bother really. I probably looked a lot different back then anyway." There it was. The perfect opening to ask him why he'd ended up at Malie Point. Had he been injured as many of the other men had? Nan had instilled in me over the years that it was impolite- in fact an absolute no-no, to ask the soldiers personal questions about their past experiences; Something I'd come to appreciate a lot more as I to came to terms with my own turbulent and unsettling recollections of war.

By now we had reached the end of the trail and as we crossed over a small patch of grass, I was surprised to see a strip of tarmac. Somehow whilst climbing the extinct volcano, it felt as though I was caught up in another world and time. Modern day Edinburgh ceased to exist in my consciousness until I came face to face with the sight and sounds of cars going back and forth along the busy stretch of road. "Hungry?" Charles asked just as my stomach gave a ferocious growl, making me blush. "Come on, lets wander over to Grassmarket, they've got their market today. I hear the food is to die for." As I was ready to kill just about anybody for food at this point, I happily agreed. We continued our leisurely walk, retracing our steps from earlier that morning back along Queen's Drive and all the way along Cowgate. The closer to old tower we got, the more populated the streets became and the louder it got. As we turned into Grassmarket, the entire street was lined with brightly coloured tents and people bustling all around. My senses were suddenly overloaded with the sights and smells of the delicious home grown produce on sale. "How did you know about this?" I asked curiously as my eye caught a local artist stall and I wandered over to view a water colour of Waverley Station. Charles took off his rucksack and began delving into a pocket. "Your Nan told me. The market is on the same day every week. It's not to be missed apparently." I grinned as I recalled of the numerous Saturdays we'd spent stood behind a stall- not so dissimilar to these. "Nan always loved market days…" I mumbled wistfully." Charles, having found what he was looking for straightened up. "It's always worth trying the local delicacies, they aren't better anywhere else." With that he reached out and handed me two Scottish five pound notes. "Now don't you go spending it all at once young lady!"

"You've thought of everything. Your rucksack must be like Mary Poppins' carpet bag." I paused thoughtfully. "Hang on, that doesn't mean you're going to make me try Haggis is it?" Charles took one look at the disgust on my face and burst out laughing. Linking my arm through his he began tugging me over to the nearest food stall. "Well when in Edinburgh Dawes, when in Edinburgh. Come on, let's crack on before we miss all the fun stuff!"

We passed a couple of hours merrily wandering back and forth between the stalls and shops. We sampled local breads, cheeses, fruits and veg and a variety of smoked fish. We even sampled a few cheeky whiskies. I enjoyed looking at the local craft stalls and street art and laughed myself silly when Charles got persuaded to try on a kilt by a local tartan seller. Though he drew the line when I asked if he'd try playing a set of bagpipes, insisting he didn't have the lung capacity. Instead he sat and watched an artist paint a black and white landscape of Greyfriers Kirkyard. "There's something haunting and beautiful about old graves, don't you think?" Charles muttered from beside me as the young artist put the finishing touches to a tombstone on the side of a house; a picture gallery of the dead. Humming in agreement I looked up when I felt a gentle touch on my elbow. "Dessert?" following Charles' gaze I couldn't help but laugh at Charles' hopeful expression when I saw the ice cream van on the corner.

"Come on you." I tugged him gently towards the van, choosing to ignore the fact that Charles was the oldest kid in the que by far. "You know," he muttered as he took a lick from his cone, "It's not far if you want to go take a look a Greyfriers. It was on your Nan's list of things to see anyway. She knew about your fascination with graves too it seems." At this point Charles had paused to take off his backpack and I stopped focusing on what he was saying too fascinated at his one handed movements. He stretched his arms above his head, being careful to not let his ice-cream drip, as he pulled his arms from the sleeves. I couldn't help but admire his muscular frame or the way his t-shirt rode up to reveal chiselled abs that rippled and danced every time he moved. Not bad Dawes, not bad at all…. might be needed more ice if I wasn't careful. For a terrible moment I thought I'd been caught looking so I quickly turned away to hide my blush as we carried on walking.

Greyfriers is a truly atmospheric graveyard steeped in history. As we walked through the iron gates I couldn't help but catch my breath at the haunting beauty of it. Charles took one look at my glazed face and smiled knowing he'd lost my attention for the next hour at least. Dating back to the 1560's it was given to Edinburgh by Mary Queen of Scots as an overflow cemetery and a number of notable Scottish residents are interred here, from the monument remembering the covananters imprisoned before being put to death, to Greyfriar's Bobby, the Sky terrier who spent fourteen years standing vigil over his master's grave. Every corner of the cemetery seemed to be sprawling with worn headstones, ruined mausoleums and tombs adorned with intricately carved skeletons and skulls with their own stories and secrets to tell; a macabre reminder of the fragility of mortality. As we wandered around we came across a row of dark soot coloured monuments that lined the east wall. There sombre colours a stark contrast to the bright pale stone that the homes behind are built from, a whisper away as if they were built around the graves themselves.

Content to wander the graveyard alone, my focus narrowing down to only what I saw through my lense. The world around me ceased to exist as I became fascinated by the names and dates displayed on the crumbling stonework. It wasn't until I looked up after taking a picture of Bloody Makenzie's tomb that I realised Charles was no longer behind me. Glancing at my watch as I walked back towards the church yard I was shocked to discover how much time had past. I eventually found him sat on a bench reading a book he must have picked up in the market.

"Sorry." I muttered sheepishly as I dropped down beside him, shading my eyes to see him better. "I sometimes forget people are there or where I am, I'm so focused on looking." Charles shoot his head and reached for my camera. "Why do you do that?" He asked softly, his eyes tracing my face before flicking through my most recent shots.

"Do what?" I asked confused by his question.

"Apologise for being passionate about something. You keep your talent so close to your chest like a heavily guarded secret; as if you're afraid that someone is going to snatch it away from you the second you open up and share it with the world. I don't know if anyone's told you but you're fascinating to watch when you're at work. You take such care and attention before every shot and you beam every time you see a shot you like or when the light catches something just right. I could watch you all day. You're extremely talented. Have you thought about selling your work at all?" I laughed as I shook my head letting my hair fall over my face to cover my burning cheeks.

"No not really." I bit my lip when I remembered Nan's words about my choice of subject matter and finding the joy. Was I not seeing what everyone else was?

"Well maybe you should Dawes." We sat in contented silence for a while longer enjoying the peacefulness of our surroundings until the church bell struck the hour. The events of this morning felt like a lifetime ago. It was hard to imagine it was only late afternoon. "Now Dawes," Charles interrupted my thoughts, looking at me with a smirk on his face that I knew meant no good. "I don't know about you but I'm dying for a pint. What say you we go find a pub?"

"That your gentlemanly way of trying to get me pissed Charles? Caz I'm telling you now…I might look small but I can assure you I can drink the best of them under the table."

"Is that a challenge?" I grinned as he stood up and pulled me to my feet.

"You bet. Lets see what you've got Dawes."


End file.
